


BLOOD TRIBUNE: REPUBLIC

by LosoXanon



Series: BLOOD TRIBUNE [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Cults, Drama, Eldritch, Family, Horror, Love, Lovecraftian, Multi, Original Character(s), References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Rituals, Romance, Sith Pureblood (Star Wars), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LosoXanon/pseuds/LosoXanon
Summary: I don’t quite a have catchy summary but all I gotta say is that:if you’re looking to read a slow burn drama/ horror Star Wars fanfic set in The Clone Wars that focuses on a cast of characters from a non-existent but theoretical far off Pureblood Sith Empire who have to navigate life in a Clone Wars-Era Republic, you’ll probably like this.If you’re interested in a more philosophical analysis of the Darkside, and the Force, and how would be treated and viewed by the species that had a hand in starting the Sith Order, you’ll probably like thisThere’s cults, violence, love, romance, family, eldritch gods, cosmic horror, rituals, Sith Sorcery and alchemy. Everything one would expect from a story centered around the Red SithStill ongoing!!!
Series: BLOOD TRIBUNE [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219028
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. HANDSHIP

It’s in the early hours when the Chwayat-Itsu lands in the Senate Apartment Complex’s hanger bay. The Clone Wars has been raging for nearly a year but—at last—the Blood King has felt Vyrys Xzsul’s mental state was in a good enough place where he can begin his work. The past year has been consumed by intense Sith Order training under Exalic Hyx and therapy—along with tending to his son, Matik Xzsul. Vyrys adopted Matik shortly after anointment into the Handship. The boy is a survivor from the Obsidian God Cult—around three years in age. If anyone could provide the child with a supportive and loving circle, it was the Gadow Circle—the Xzsul’s. Vyrys scoops the sleeping child into his arms and exits the small craft—unpacking is a job for tomorrow. “ _ I’am happy you sleepin’, lil’ one. _ ” Vyrys whispers in his native tongue, kissing his son’s head as he creeps to the assigned apartment. Most of the Hands are here to document the Republic’s political state for historical purposes but Vyrys has been assigned to observe the Jedi—and Sith—cults that reside in the area. The Blood Tribune has billions of cults—all in varying sizes, all of whom worship an infinite amount of different deities, all who pose different levels of threats—but to Vyrys’ knowledge, the Republic only has two main ones of note. He can only theorize this is because of the monopoly on Qyâsik—known as The Force, in this region—that the Jedi have. Qyâsik’s knowledge and power are infinite and untamed in the Blood Tribune. Holocrons and other pieces of knowledge are passed around like cheap DataPads—and due to extremely lax regulations, one can practice anything they please if they’re not doing it on one of the Crown Worlds. The Obsidian Cult was only an issue because they were practicing on Dyriliok— and had tried to get involved with the military. The Jen’ari Imperium were culled because they had started to overpower their Red Order neighbors and balance had to be restored. It is every Red Sith’s right to practice Qyâsik how they see fit—and it is the Hands job to document the galaxy. Republic Jedi are extremely protective of their knowledge. Simply practicing a different philosophy can get one labeled a Sith and killed without trial. The thought makes Vyrys roll his eyes, the audacity of these Republic dwellers to give their idea of  ** evil ** the same name as his species. It makes him grateful the Red Sith somehow made their way to the Unknown and were able to cultivate a society where they could live as Qyâsik intended. He makes note of how spacious and elegant their given apartment is. But there’s little time to bask in the niceties of this place, there is work to be done as soon as dawn hits. There are only five of them in total—Himself, Matik, Covx, Jylik Reevix, and Izyiza Null. Jylik is stationed within the Republic. Izyiza is currently within Separatist space, and Covx is here as an overseer. They might be hands, but everyone outside of Covx is new and still require the guidance and foresight of an Elder Hand. After creeping through the hallway, Vyrys finally finds a room where he can put Matik down. It’s relatively small but big enough for a child to dwell comfortably. Plus, it’s attached to Jylik’s quarters—his quarters. Once Matik is settled and secure, he slinks into her quarters. The two have been mates for a year. She senses his presence and groggily turns in the bed to face him. “Vy?” She blinks, half-asleep. “Jylik.” He smiles, it’s the most genuine one he’s had since the Obsidian Cult incident. “ _ Sleep _ .” She yawns, scooting over for him to join her. Vyrys wastes no time in doing so, crawling behind her and resting his head on her shoulder. 

As soon as the sun rises over the ecumenopolis, Vyrys is awake. He won’t wake Matik now—the boy needs his sleep after a long starship ride—but he needs to ready himself for his day at the Jedi Temple. After he’s done with dressing himself, he stares at himself in the mirror. Pride swells in his chest when he looks at the complex—and opulent— column-like brands that span from underneath each one of his eyes to the bottom of his face. They encase both his arms—spanning wrist to elbow—as well. It was an excruciating and drawn-out ritual—worse than losing his eyes—but it’s a permanent sign of rank. For as long as he lives, he is branded a tool of the Blood King and that is worth everything in itself. The lightsaber wound is no more than a light line over his nose and cheeks—most of which is covered by the brands—but that too is a sign of growth. The Red Sith are not the Vong, they don’t worship pain or suffering but there is merit to hardship—and even realistic amounts of torment—because conflict breeds strength. He’s like his teacher, Covx, and his master, Exalic Hyx, now. He has a kinship to the Hands as they do—there’s circlehood in that. “ _ Covx _ .” Vyrys greets upon entering the kitchen. “ _ Vyrys, we are happy to have you with us. Sit. _ ” Covx smiles, gesturing for Vyrys to sit. He does so, gaze not leaving Covx. Covx is from an Old World. His people date back to Korriban—they are completely untouched by the Jedi Exiles and humans—it’s as though you’re looking at a Red Sith from that era—from the Ancient times. Most Dyriliok Sith are more along the lines of Naga Sadow than Ludo Kressh in appearance—to use an allegory of a long-forgotten era—and Xzsul is half-human himself. This is no matter however, one is Red Sith or they are not. There is no  _ half-Red Sith _ category in the Blood Tribune. “ _ You’re heading to the Jedi Temple today, yes? _ ” “ _ Yes, I’am. I intend on it _ .” Vyrys nods, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his cloak unconsciously. “ _ Good. Good. You will be safe. They know you are coming. _ ” He assures, sliding Vyrys a plate of vegetables. “ _ I know that the smell of burning meat sets off your nerves. _ ” Covx frowns, thoughtfully. “ _ Thank you, Covx. Your mindfulness means everything to me. _ ” Vyrys lopsidedly smiles, grabbing a fork and beginning to slowly eat. If a room is too hot—it brings him back. If he feels a metal rod—it brings him back. The cooking of meat—brings him back. Even something as simple as a container of water being too warm will bring his mind back to that facility for a moment as though he’s still there. The worst is the ambiance. The sounds of metallic noise have brought him to tears countless times. “ _ There will be droids at the Temple, you know how the Republic dwellers are. Scared of Qyâsik’s fullness but perfectly fine with those… things _ .” Covx jeers with a scoff, shaking his head. The Blood Tribune has never had droids. They’re banned. It’s troubling for them to have sentient creatures with no connection to Qyâsik. The upside of this is that Red Sith cybernetics are the most advanced around. Qyâsik moves thoroughly through Red Sith cybernetics as if they’re flesh and blood. “ _ I will manage. _ ” He sighs, taking another bite. “ _ Can you tend to Matik for me—if Jylik isn’t available today? I know he’ll be excited to spend the day with Bib’i Covx. _ ” Vyrys asks, softly smiling.  _ Bib’i _ is a Circle Dweller term for the Basic word:  _ grandfather _ . Terms like  _ Bob’i _ refer to one’s  _ father _ —more accurately  _ dad _ — and  _ A’bo _ to one’s  _ mom _ . Whereas,  _ A’obbo _ can mean  _ wise-woman _ but is also used for  _ grandmother _ . “ _ Of course, Vyrys. Speaking of, the chancellor has been asking about you _ .” Ah, yes, the chancellor. “ _ What did you tell him? You know he’s my Bob’i, yes? _ ” “ _ He looks like you but human—and much more aged—you also share energies. You should visit him when you have time _ .” Covx advises. The family life of the Xzsul’s is abnormal as far as Red Sith families go. One cannot be a father, politician, and secret Sith Lord all at once and this shows in their dynamics. Sheev Palpatine is rarely around but Red Sith Circles exist for a reason. In ancient times, Red Sith would have to leave their partners for extended periods whether that be for war, sorcery, or other reasons. Red Sith are fiercely monogamous—loyal to a near-fault—they only split with a mate if absolutely necessary or through death. It is even speculated that Naga Sadow did not mate with his partner for the first 15 years of their union—such is the way of the Red Sith. Thus, the relationship of Yvi Gadow and Sheev Palpatine works to both of their benefits. However, childrearing is typically handed off to the father until adolescence then the mother steps in. Modern scholars theorize that this was because of the warrior-culture of the ancient Red Sith. While there were women who participated in war—it was more beneficial for a man to raise his young and would also prolong his life. One cannot die on a battlefield if they are raising their young. Ancient Red Sith men would teach their children how to fight, survive, and any other basic need. Due to human interference and time, this has changed and childcare has become more egalitarian but many of those who live within the Circle Complexes of Dyriliok still heavily retain that cultural trope. To the Xzsul’s children luck, however, Yvi Gadow is one of 20 children—and the only girl—so they grew up with an abundance of uncles. “ _ If I have time today I will, if not, I will go tomorrow. _ ” Xzsul agrees, finishing up his food and bringing the plate to the sink. “ _ Is there anything of importance I should know? _ ” Vyrys asks, grabbing a notebook and HoloHad from the table to stick in his cloak. He won’t bring the utility dagger—the Jedi are likely already weary of their presence considering the two societies’ past history. “ _ Yes, their chosen one is there today I hear. _ ” Covx informs thoughtfully, standing and going to Vyrys’ side. “ _ Interview him. But be mindful, he is quite aggressive for a Jedi. He’s close to your age. In my opinion, the Jedi do not have the means to control him. He has no emotional discipline so be as surface level with your questions as possible. Do not pry. If you sense anger, remove yourself from his presence. You’re a good sorcerer, Hyx has taught you well—I know that much—but Jedi use lightsabers. _ ” Since the Obsidian God cult, Vyrys has been unable to use a lightsaber again. Even touching one brings back the horrific vision tenfold. Hyx was very understanding of this and decided it was for the best if Xzsul focuses on sorcery instead. Lightsabers aren’t as an important part of Red Sith culture, many Red Sith find them just as disgusting as droids and land speeders. They’re also highly dangerous—they reflect nearly all energy and if hit with something like electricity, it will just project it back. A traditional weapon will break if given enough force and pushback. Thus, for the safety of everyone, they’re banned unless it’s a cultural weapon—as it was for many of the Red Sith who migrated to the Blood Tribune after the fall of the Republic’s Sith Empire. “ _ Strange _ .” Xzsul muses aloud. “ _ I’ve met some Republic Jedi a few months ago on Dyriliok, they’re quite even-tempered and cordial _ .” “ _ Not this one. He is also close to your father and will likely demand to accompany you if you wish to see him. _ ” Covx discloses more. No one knows Palpatine and Vyrys are related so it’s understandable. “ _ Was he rude _ ?” “ _ Yes, very. He takes our people’s name at face value. He’s passionate with no refinement. _ ” “ _ I’ll take that into consideration, Covx. Thank you for informing me _ .” Vyrys sighs, rubbing his right cheek ridge thoughtfully. He’s never had a bad experience with a lightside cult but they could be overly hostile. The Jedi—much like them—are warriors, even if they have the facade of peacefulness. Every Red Sith knows the history. 

Upon walking to the front gates of the Temple, Vyrys is met by two of its members. If pictures and reports match up, it is Jedi Grand Master Yoda and Jedi Grand Master Mace Windu—both high-ranking members of the Order. “Thank you for allowing me to tour your Temple, Jedi Masters.” Vyrys wears a diplomatic and friendly smile, trying his best to smooth over his Dyriliok Red Sith accent. “My name is Vyrys Xzsul. I am Hand to the Blood King.” He introduces, bowing respectfully, and shaking both of their hands—according to his father, it’s how Republic citizens make a good first impression. “Exalted Hand Xzsul, it is an honor to meet you as well. I am Mace Windu.” Mace introduces cordially. “This is Jedi Grand Master Yoda.” He introduces the other. “It is an honor to meet you, Grand Master.” “Honor it is as well, young Sith.” Yoda nods and the three proceed into the Temple. “Assume you are here to interview chosen one, yes?” “Yes, Grand Master Yoda, if it is an option. My people take great interest in your Order’s perspectives on Qyâsik.” Vyrys smiles, scanning the Temple. It reminds him of countless, massive polytheistic temples that litter Dyriliok. The Red Sith are a highly spiritual people. Every Circle Complex has multiple floors dedicated to private shine’s where one can meditate and give gifts to ancestors and deceased loved ones. “Been to Dyriliok, I have— in the past.” Yoda states. “Very nice it is. Much like Coruscant, yes?” “Yes, yes, grandmaster. It’s one of our people’s Crown Worlds for a reason.” Vyrys agrees as they bend a corner. “Very alike we are. Hands and Jedi, yes?” Yoda asks, striking up a casual conversation. “Of course, Grand Master. We may have different views on Qyâsik, but at the end of the day, we both want our societies to flourish and the people who live within them to be happy.” Vyrys agrees, nodding along to his. The Jedi Temple radiates a peaceful energy, it’s enough to put Xzsul into a lull. It reminds him of the Circle Complexes—of the Gadow Complex. “I hope that in time—one day— our two kingdoms can put the past behind us and unify. We both can help each other grow.” Xzsul means that with the upmost sincerity. Unlike the Red Sith of the Old Sith Empire, the original Korriban Sith were extremely communal. Korriban—however—was a harsh and unforgiving planet and it made one have to rely on violence and power to survive. There weren’t enough resources and few will let their children starve just so another’s can eat. However, with the guidance of the Decaying Father and a new, resource-heavy region of space, the Red Sith were able to return to that cooperative nature. Red Sith still fight, still use their emotions to the fullest in sorcery, and still retain many cultural elements of the ancient times, but they live by an expansive honor code. “It could happen within some lifetimes, though most Republic citizens don’t even remember your species—let alone know about the existence of the Blood Tribune.” Mace comments neutrally and Vyrys shrugs in response. “One can hope. We are not as we were back thousands of years ago. Our people have grown in maturity.” “Maturity, hm.” Yoda hums, taking interest in Xzsul’s words. “Mature, your people are? Not mature in Old Republic days, they were?” “Not by today’s standards.” Vyrys agrees, much to both of the Jedi’s surprise. “You see, when our people first became spacefaring, we were not ready. Korriban is a harsh planet—and our people were lacking in both resources and cultural advancement. We were still extremely isolated and primitive. I personally believe if we had no Jedi Exile interference, we would have eventually become citizens of the Republic naturally when our people were ready. We had Qyâsik’s power but no understanding—and power without maturity and understanding is a death sentence.” Vyrys pause, waiting for any kind of interjection from either Jedi. “New system of belief you must now have then? True assumption of mine is?” “Yes, grandmaster, that is correct. Qyâsik is order and chaos. There must be balance and there must be a firm hand to guide. That is where one’s circle comes in—typically. We have our traditions. We’re still a warrior-culture at heart but a warrior without discipline and strict adherence to their superiors is a danger to everyone. Disobedience and treason is the same word in our native tongue.” “So your people expect complete obedience when following orders?” Mace asks, “No backstabbing or the most strong rising through the ranks via treachery ?” “No.” Vyrys shakes his head, sighing. “If everyone fiends for power, the entire civilization will crumble because not everyone can be on top. Everyone’s rank is of equal cultural importance even if they’re not top of the hierarchy. A general is not one if everyone is. A general needs foot soldiers or he is a general of nothing. There are exceptions, we have Ancient Law. If a superior gives one an order that goes against that Law, things get very complicated.” Vyrys speaks from experience. It was Ancient Law and knowledge of it that saved him from being the victim of the Obsidian Cult. He shudders at the thought of where mindlessly following a superior with ill intent would have led. “Sense from experience you speak.” Yoda states with a grunt. “Sadly, yes. But that is something I would prefer not to discuss.” He frowns, shaking his head. Neither Jedi press the issue further. They meet Anakin Skywalker in a training room. He’s going through train routines with his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, the two halt when they see the trio. “My name is Vyrys Xzsul. I’m an Exalted Hand to the King of The Blood Tribune.” He introduces like clockwork, bowing hospitably. “If you have time, I’d like to interview you. If not, that’s fine.” He assures. Skywalker stares intently for a few moments, saying nothing. “I actually have a meeting with the Chancellor I need to attend to.” “That’s fine, thank you.” Vyrys warmly smiles. This works in his favor. “If you ever wish to speak, I’m stationed at the Senate Apartment Complex for the time being. Our people have a different view of Qyâsik—The Force, as you prefer to call it— then what’s common in the Republic, thus the idea of the Chosen One intrigues us. In the Ancient Times, we had a similar myth, we called it the Sith’Ari.” “Do you believe in that?” Anakin questions, his voice underlined with an accusatory edge. “No, I’m a polytheist.” Vyrys answers flatly, matter-of-fact. This explanation gives Skywalker no reassurance “How do we actually know that you—and the others work with—aren’t attached to Count Dooku—to Darth Sidious? Why should I trust you?” There’s no masking the tension anymore—the edge—the thinly veiled anger posed in the question. “You don’t—but be assured, my loyalty is to the Blood King and the Decaying Father. I serve no cults that deviate from their will. I lost my eyes behind my loyalty. I’ve paid my dues with my own blood.” Vyrys states firmly, staying polite. Tano glances back and forth at the two before speaking up. “Why should the Jedi trust a Sith? I learned about your species, they attacked the Republic and basically started this war—well, they planted the seeds for what we’re dealing with now.” “War is apart of balance.” Vyrys sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. This will be a long day. “I personally don’t agree with it— but history is rarely free of conflict and bloodshed. I cannot help that Jedi Exiles occupied Korriban. I cannot change that our culture was primitive and had a deep knowledge of Qyâsik and it was used by them against you. War happened—yes. They took our sorcery and aspects of our military culture—yes. They modified your Code and made it their’s—yes. But that was thousands of years ago. Death and war are common—normal, and to be welcomed—what happened was the will of Qyâsik.” Vyrys gives no ground in his statement. He will not mock these Jedi in their misplaced disdain—that’s unprofessional—but it is his right to defend his species from this lambasting. “How do we know that the Blood Tribune and the Sith aren’t working together to try to bring the Republic down?” Skywalker questions, arms crossing and expression turning into a glare that Tano mirrors. “We have our own cults to worry about. If our King wanted the Republic, it would have been ours centuries ago. We have no interest in harming your kingdom.” 

By the time Vyrys Xzsul finishes his initial tour, it’s lunchtime. The day so far has been a meticulous slog of interviewing, rough estimating, and data collecting. After giving the preliminary goodbyes and thankful regards to the Jedi Masters, he wastes no time in getting to the Senate Building. There’s no resistance to getting into the chancellor’s office. The older, Rodian receptionist working the desks seems to have already recognized his intentions by his trappings and brands—or the Chancellor was told about him by Skywalker and they’re both expecting Xzsul—either possibility is beneficial. As he stands in front of the door to Chancellor's Suite, Vyrys has to fight to cover the excitement that stirs in his chest. The Jedi is there—the Jedi can’t know that they know each other—but still, Vyrys can’t help but feel the same way Matik feels when he sees him. It’s a deep-rooted and unexplainable feeling. With a shaky breath and a final composition of his emotions, he knocks and waits. The second the door opens, Vyrys strides in—biting on his tongue full-force to conceal the smirk that’s forming—the smirk he’s masking is the same one he had when he first met his father at 5. He hasn’t spoken to Sheev Palpatine—Sidious—since 13. “Ah, Vyrys Xzsul, I was expecting you—granted, not this early.” The chancellor smiles, standing from his seat behind the desk. Skywalker stands behind him. For a moment—a split second—Vyrys sees his eyes flash in recognition. “It is an honor to meet you, Chancellor.” It’s a genuine and warm smile. Vyrys immediately notices how poorly he’s aged. The Chancellor has aged ten-fold, to an unnatural amount. Palpatine looks older than Vyrys’ grandfather does and he’s far younger—61 is still considered young to Red Sith. This position must drain one of their life—likely due to the stress involved, Vyrys assumes. Skywalker flashes Vyrys a warning glare, a promise that if things go south that Xzsul’s head will be lying somewhere in the suite. “Sit, sit.” Chancellor Palpatine warmly gestures and Vyrys does so, taking a seat on a vacant sofa chair, his hands resting clasped together in his lap. “Your mentor—Exalted Hand Covx—told me of you.” The chancellor informs, sitting back down. Skywalker’s eyes are trained on Xzsul like a hawk’s but he does his best to not meet him back with a sharp glare. “I’m sure your parents are quite proud of your accomplishments, I was told it’s quite a big deal in your society.” “They are, they are.” Vyrys nods, softly smiling. “I heard that you had a part in discovering a cult on your home planet. Is that true?” Instantly, Xzsul knows where this conversation is going. “It is. Yes, sir.” Vyrys confirms, smile faltering slightly. Either his father knows of this and is wanting to learn more—or he knows everything and this is his way of informing him on any possible missteps he feels Xzsul had made. “I didn’t ask for much details because I wanted to get my information directly from the source. We are currently hunting a darkside cult and your expertise could be vital. That’s why I asked our best general—Anakin Skywalker—to sit in. If that’s okay.” Vyrys’ heart is beginning to race, and he rubs his right cheek ridge. It’s not that Vyrys believes his father will be mad—he knows he will be—but having to explain it all will be a long time first. “Of course. I don’t mind.” Vyrys assures, voice small and his eyes focusing on the speeder traffic behind the two. “Well, to start.” He takes a deep breath, memories of last year reforming in his mind. “I was on an assignment to Cruor’yk 5 to help cull a cult in that region. I won’t go into detail, it isn’t important to the matter. After we bombarded the planet, I was instructed to eliminate everyone by a general I was ordered to accompany.” Vyrys pauses, waiting for any questions and gauging reactions. Skywalker is still glaring keenly but Palpatine wears an expression of genuine interest—the same type he’d use when Vyrys was a child and was telling him a story about an event that had occurred in his absence. “The general was secretly a member of this cult called the Obsidian God Cult.” Even saying the name makes Vyrys pause to compose himself. He’s speaking to his father, after all, it’s safe—that's what he tells himself—even if his father wears a mask of a total stranger. “I was ordered to kill everyone. Women. Children. Families. That is something I could not do—I don’t have it in me to do.” Xzsul takes note of subtle and a split-second change in Skywalker’s face like he too is reliving a painful memory. “Why did you not, if your superior ordered so?” Palpatine asks, clasping his hands in the same fashion as Vyrys. “Well… Well, two reasons—no, no three reasons—wait, no four. I apologize. For one: I’m an Hand. I know sorcery, yes—of course, but I’am—I’m not a solider. Two: it is against Ancient Law to do so—unless very—very—very explicitly ordered by the Blood King himself. Three: All I had was a utility dagger. Four—the most important: I…” He pauses to compose himself, his taloned-fingers pick at his right hand and cause it to bleed slightly but it doesn’t phase Xzsul. With a deep breath, he continues. “… I have a family—younger siblings—a circle of my own—I don’t have it in my nature to do that. So I called my mentor for guidance and was immediately informed that it wasn’t in my assignment to do so.” Another longer pause commences as Vyrys awaits another interjection from either. Palpatine is growing slowly more concerned and Skywalker is seemingly somewhere else in his mind. Seeing as no one has any questions, Vyrys continues. “After that, some time passed and we found them on my home planet— Dyriliok—and I accompanied them. I’am—I’m—I’am not in the right mind to describe what I witnessed ‘dere—in that place so—please forgive me—but I ended up losing my eyes. The leader burned my eyes out. The cult was eliminated however, that was a year ago. I became an official Hand a day after waking up from my injuries.” “Were you ordered to go to the cult headquarters?” There’s no edge in Palpatine’s voice, no tonal indicators that it’s anything other than an innocent question but Vyrys knows better. It’s a question to gauge if retribution must be paid. “No, No. I choose to go.” Vyrys admits, he’s left out the Sith Order parts of the story, but when he and Palpatine are alone, all will be shared—in more detail. Palpatine is in contemplation, eyes moving around thoughtfully. “You mentioned you were a sorcerer—well, trained in what I can only assume is the Force—I’m no user of such arts, but it seems like you could have used it to kill the leader before he maimed you.” The chancellor states, shooting Xzsul a highly critical glance. “I was caught up in the moment and didn’t think to do that.” Vyrys frowns and he’s met with a dumbfounded gaze from his father for a minute—this will be a further discussed subject, Vyrys is sure of it. “I’m no parent but what if you had died in the incident? The harm that would have done to your family would have been devastating.” The Chancellor speaks in a firm and parental tone, frowning—its earnest in it’s intention. “From what Exalted Hand Covx told me of you, you’re a very fine young man. The Handship would have been hindered by losing your potential—your family would of irreversibly damaged. I was a young man too—once—I fully understand the need for adventure and the yearning to prove one’s self.” He stands to adjust his shirt before sitting back down, sighing. “But speaking as an older, more experienced man. I know that unless one is trained to handle a situation—and even if very experienced and self-assured in their talents—they shouldn’t let arrogance overtake them and throw themselves into dangerous situations. I’m sure your father explained that to you upon hearing of the incident.” “Yes, sir.” Vyrys frowns, feeling like a scolded child—but it’s not that isn’t being scolded. “He did. Granted, he was relieved I had survived.” “I’m sure he was.” Vyrys senses a tinge of jealousy from Skywalker—Skywalker must not find him very deserving of this parental treatment. “Hopefully, the ceremony of becoming a Hand itself was decent for you—at the very least.” Palpatine states, directing the conversation out of it’s a dark valley. “Exalted Hand Covx tells me it’s quite a celebratory event.” “Yes, sir, it is.” Vyrys smiles, when he reaches into his cloak, Skywalker instantly withdraws his lightsaber and activates it. “Both of your hands where I can see them, Sith.” He orders, teeth grit, and for a moment, Vyrys is back on that lava bank in his vision—back witnessing the maiming and burning of the unknown Jedi. Time slips away and the world around him fades into the vision—everything is hot and he can feel wetness forming down his cheeks. And like many—countless times before—he’s unable to do anything but watch it happen—but smell burning flesh and hear intelligible screams of undying rage and anguish. Whatever pain the unknown Jedi is feeling, he feels. They share the pain—they share rage—they share personhood in these visions. But he also shares the being of the defender—the one who deflected the attacker. It’s as though Vyrys Xzsul’s very soul is being fought over and devoured by a wild pack of Lyyukra in these moments. He feels everything and nothing all at once.

“Son?” It’s his father's gentle—but albeit political—voice that pulls him back into the Chancellor’s Suite on Coruscant. It’s his father’s hand on his shoulder that tethers him back into the waking world. When the weapon was drawn, it was the afternoon—when he breaks out of his vision, he’s still sitting there but it’s evening. Covx and Jylik are by his side—Jylik’s hand is stroking the back of his neck, with the other resting on his thigh—the Jedi hasn’t left either. He’s speaking with Covx. Covx doesn’t seem very happy. Matik is with them—likely hiding under a chair or in the Chancellor’s desk. The boy is wary of new environments and senses his father’s distress. “ _ What _ …?” He blinks, for now, he’s perplexed but panic is steadily growing. “ _ VyVy, it’s okay. You had a moment—but you’re okay now. You’re back with us. _ ” She informs him, kissing the shell of his ear. He jerks out of their touch and to his feet—pacing anxiously with his face buried in his hands. “ _ Let him pace _ .” Jylik whispers to the Chancellor. “Gods.” Vyrys hisses, new tears forming in his eyes. “ _ I… I was back ‘dere—COVX—I WAS BACK ‘DERE _ .” All he has are pained sobs. In the corner of his eye, he can see Palpatine’s shocked and grieved expression—no, he can feel it. He can sense Covx’s sympathy—Jylik’s worry—Matik’s alarm at his outburst—The Jedi’s remorse. It’s all a blob—an mass of strained nerves as the Blood King is. “I need to speak with my master.” He hisses in Basic. If he had hair, he’d be pulling it out of his scalp right now. “ _ Vyrys, please, sit _ .” Covx instructs cautiously, moving away from Skywalker and taking a step to him. “I—I—…” Vyrys realizes he’s yelling and horror consumes him—muting him. He’s becoming Nullius—he’s becoming Ragnik— he’s becoming one of them—he’s losing his mind. He’s losing everything and it—the mere thought of it—breaks him fully into a broken, uncontrollable sobbing mess. Covx is by his side, hand resting on his back. “ _ It’s okay, Vyrys. You’re fine. When we get home, rest. You’re okay, you’re with us still _ .” “ _ Covx, I'm losing my mind. Covx. I was back there _ .” Xzsul whispers bitterly. 


	2. NIGHTMARE

He wakes up beside her. The two mated that night—through a blur of pain and momentary insanity—they dedicated themselves to each other fully. The morning gives them mutual bliss. They’re intertwined. It’s still dark—but barely. Vyrys cuddles closer to her—close enough that his lips graze her cheek—Jylik rests her hand on the top of his head, fingers rubbing his scalp. “ _ You should grow your hair out _ .” She comments in her sleep, voice low. “ _ I’ll start today _ .” Yesterday was a blur but today is a dreadful thought. Covx will guide him further but his meltdown will not be forgotten. Vyrys doubts he will be punished, everyone who survived the Sadow Cult has been plagued with hellish visions. Vyrys is just an unfortunate victim—as was everyone else there. They lie peacefully together until the sun breaks through the city’s skyline then—like clockwork—they ready themself for the day ahead. But unlike most days, Vyrys doesn’t shave his head at Jylik’s request. 

“ _ Hey, Mat _ .” Vyrys greets Matik gently, kissing the boy’s temple. “ _ Hey, Bob’i. _ ” Matik timidly smiles, eating his breakfast. Vyrys is unsure of who Matik’s biological parents are. He has strong speculation that it is possibly the High Priest due to his age when they found him. Vyrys wonders if Matik sees the visions as well but is just too young to process them—the thought of that haunts Vyrys to his very core. Frowning, Vyrys crouches down to Matik’s level, hand on his upper back. “ _ Mat, Bob’i loves you _ .” He assures with a frown. “ _ Bob’i didn’t mean to scare you yesterday—I didn’t mean to yell. Bob’i’s sorry. _ ” It’s all he can give him—an apology—but he gives it with all the earnestness in his being. “ _ Bob’i just has nightmares when he’s awake sometimes and it… it scares me, y’know? _ ” Vyrys frowns, averting his gaze. “ _ I see scary dreams too _ .” Matik nods, taking a bite of his food. “ _ I got scary dreams about Ryckii eatin' my hair off. _ ” It’s so matter-of-factly stated that Vyrys has to stifle a laugh. “ _ Y’eh, y’eh, you miss Ryckii too, huh? _ ” “ _ Y’eh, y’eh _ .” Matik smirks, nodding excitedly. “ _ A’obba say Ryckii a bob’i. He got 300 kids _ .” He giggles amusedly, scooting closer to Vyrys. “ _ Aunti’ _ _ Xarla say you bald ‘cause Ryckii eat your hair. _ ” Matik sighs, roughly patting Vyrys’ head. “ _ Bob’i not with Ryckii so I’m goin’ t’ grow it back _ .” “ _ Good! Luv’ you, bob’i. _ ” Matik explains, giving Vyrys a hug that he returns. “ _ Love you too, Matik. You my baby _ .” He and Matik spend the morning eating together and afterward, he helps the boy get ready for the day. Once that’s finished, Jylik agrees to take Matik for the day. Covx has a special assignment—one that outweighs observing the Jedi. “ _ Vyrys, you need to go to Korriban. _ ” Covx informs. “ _ What? _ ” Vyrys nearly spits out the water he’s drinking in shock. “ _ Y’eh. Y’eh. Someone important wants to meet you _ .” Covx informs and Vyrys already knows who it is. “ _ I’ll leave immediately _ .” “ _ It’s in your navigator. Waste no time. _ ” It’s far too vague of an order to be assigned by the King. This must be related to yesterday. “ _ Yes, Covx. Thank you _ .” “ _ Thank as long as you need, this is of the utmost importance _ .” 

The flight to the planet is far too easy—too lacking in obstacles— as if Qyâsik itself is pulling every possible string to get him to Korriban in the quickest amount of time. Korriban is the home of his people so maybe it’s fate. Vyrys lands the Chwayat-Itsu in the Valley of the Dark Lords and exits. It’s dark but with a motion of the hand, his eyes switch to night vision. The place is in ruin but just as beautiful as he’s always imagined it. Vyrys touches the sand beneath his feet, awestruck at the knowledge his ancestors lived, fought, and survived here at once point. They built circles that would become Dyriliok’s Circle Complexes hundreds of thousands of years in the future. If they only knew what their descendants would become, they’d likely do it all again— the same way. Just as he would relive the Obsidian God Cult a thousand times over just to find Matik again. In the distance, there’s what looks to be a Temple—much like the Jedi’s on Coruscant. Vyrys is aware this where those in the Sith Order used to train. Before Bane reformed the Order, there were countless Sith but upon reformation, there was only two. A master and an apprentice. One to have power—the other to crave it. Much like Utjjlok, Korriban is all but dead—that doesn’t negate the need for caution. One can only imagine how many failed sorcerer’s experiments run amok here—wild and untamed. “Vyrys Xzsul.” It’s not his father who calls him—no, no, no, it’s a familiar voice. The Son. Vyrys whips around to face the apparition, fully dumbfounded. “It’s been a year.” He squeaks, at lost for words. The Son strides towards him, knowing smirk across his face. “You met the chosen one.” “He tried to kill me—I did. He ruined my whole day—no, my whole year.” Vyrys admits, watching the Son. Vyrys has learned to not question his appearances, just gets the most out of them whenever he appears. “He’s more like Sidious than you. Did you sense his anger? My, my.” “I’m more Jedi than him.” Vyrys bitterly laughs, watching the sky. There’s no light pollution here so the stars shine freely. Vyrys can’t tell you the constellations but they’re gorgeous regardless. “You don't actually believe he’s the chosen one, do you?” Vyrys frowns to The Son. “If you’re the darkside—Qyâsik’s chaotic energy—then there’s no need for a Chosen One. Just because the Jedi are strong here, doesn’t mean balance is absent elsewhere.” “It’s far too complex for your Red Sith-Human mind to comprehend, Xzsul.” The Son sighs, shrugging, amused by the question. “Vyrys, what if I could remove those heinous visions from your head?” “What?” Vyrys blinks, voice fizzling out in the air. “What if I could free you from it all?” The Son repeats, a subtle smirk etched across his face as he idly watches his hand. “All the sleepless nights. All the meltdowns. Everything. You have kids on the way, they need their father to not be a raving lunatic.” “I have kids? Jylik is pregnant?” Vyrys can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Well, considering your time together last night, it doesn’t take a prophet to see that children are in your near future—probably already conceived.” The Son grins and in a blink of an eye, he’s at Vyrys’ side. “You told me last year you were following in the footsteps of your father, yes?” “I did.” Vyrys nods, the conversation in the elevator coming back into his mind. “If you walk that path, you serve me then. I’m your master, you’re my apprentice—as is Sidious, Tyranus, Bane, Zannah, Plagueis, all of them. An apprentice serves their master to the fullest, correct?” “Yes, that’s correct.” He agrees, trying to formulate where this is going. “Vyrys, I can see many things. I see you eventually losing your mind to these visions. You see, since you were born—maybe before—I knew I needed you.” The Son explains slyly, hand resting on Vyrys’ shoulder. “I needed your father too. We met for a reason, I’m sure you’re aware—I know you are. When I saw you fistfight that Jedi Padawan at 13, I said to myself—this the piece I’m missing. I guided you to The Sadow Cult. I needed you there—at that specific place and time.” The Son pauses but Vyrys doesn’t reply, shock paralyzing him. “You carried your burden. You’ve done well. Now, I need that vision in your head. Can I have it?” Vyrys doesn’t ask why, it’s not important. Whatever this being wants to do is his business and if this is the answer to his pleas—a relief to it all—Vyrys will take it. “Ye—…Yes, please—take it. Have—Have it.” Vyrys mumbles. As soon the words have exited his lips, it’s like The Son is pulling his spirit out of his body. Vyrys isn’t sure how long it lasts but when he comes to, he’s on his knees, hunched over and staring at the sand. “Thank you, Vyrys. Do you want to know what I need the vision for?” “No.” Vyrys states breathlessly, not moving. “Thank you.” “You have had a hand in changing the course of the galaxy itself, Vyrys Xzsul. You and he both.” And again, the phantom disappears, leaving Vyrys alone in the barren, flat, sands of Korriban’s Valley of the Dark Lords. But for the first time in a year, a crushing weight has been removed from Vyrys Xzsul’s back. A memory fully erased that no amount of willpower can ever return. He returns to the Chwayat-Itsu, planning to rest before leaving in the morning. 

It's a knock on the window that stirs him, but it’s the realization that it’s his father that causes him to scramble out of the vessel to greet the older man. “Bob’i!” Vyrys doesn’t conceal his grin this time. “Bane Vyrys Xzsul, sit.” The warm, politically friendly voice of Palpatine has melted away, replaced by the deeper and far more callous voice that Vyrys has known his entire life. It’s far more comforting to him than the false, higher-pitched tone Palpatine deploys in his professional life, but the use of his full name denotes the seriousness. Sidious is not happy. He immediately sits on the ground—there’s nowhere else to go—he stares up at his father nervously, much like he remembers doing as a child when they were together. “If you had not already paid the price for your stupidity. I would use the Force’s power to fully teach you the error of your ways.” Sidious scoffs in a chastising manner, expression harsh. Vyrys frowns, saying nothing—now is not the time to speak but the time to listen. “Bane, what possessed you to put yourself in such a scenario—a scenario you obviously were never trained for?” There’s no use in lying—Sidious will know if he attempts any deceit and it’ll make the situation far worse than has to be. “I’am learnin’ battle sorcery and my teacher gave me a lightsaber.” “I see.” There’s a pause for a moment, so Vyrys states. “If I had not gone, I wouldn’t have my son. I lost my eyes—yes—but he would not have became my child if I did not go—so to me, it was worth it. I’am never putting’ myself in ‘dat situation again, Bob’i. I learned my lesson” “Vyrys, if you had died…” Sidious sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You better not ever do something like that again. If you die, there’s no coming back and you have a son now. Don’t act childish and arrogant. You were blessed to have survived that incident— but I cannot protect you from everything. You are a Hand for a reason. If you wish to pursue the deeper nature of the Force, that's your right. But be mindful. You don’t see me running around and acting as though I’m invincible, do you? You should know better from my own example. Don’t be a foolish young man again. Hubris leads to death—or injury—the majority of the time. I’m thankful you learned that as painfully as you did. You’ve paid the price for your arrogance and—I hope—you will never that mistake again.” Sidious scolds coldly, shaking his head. “Yes, bob’i, I understand. Thank you for guiding me to see the error of my ways.” Vyrys sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek and tracing the brands on his right forearm. Feeling as though Vyrys has learned the lesson, Sidious moves and sits next to him. “Can I see the pictures of your ceremony?” “Sure, bob’i, here.” Vyrys grins as he removes the HoloPad from his cloak pocket and hands it to him. Sidious spends time flipping through the pictures, smirk forming across his lips. The aura has shifted—and Vyrys is thankful for that—there’s no reason to continue chastising him for an event that happened last year. Especially when Sidious feels Vyrys has paid enough for his actions to begin with. “You look quite kingly in these photos.” Sidious comments. “Thank you, thank you.” Vyrys smirks pridefully, “Like the Old Lords of Korriban, y’eh?” “Very much. Is that your grandfather’s amulet?” Sidious asks, taking note of the talisman around Vyrys’ neck. “Y’eh, y’eh. It has been passed down for generations—it was made here on this planet too.” Ceremony is a staple of a Red Sith’s life. A month after a Red Sith’s eyes open, they are inducted into their Circle through ceremony. These events of deep, cultural importance. In ancient times, they would drape themselves in elegant robes, various jewelry, the finest of piercings, and armor made of precious metals—the tale-tale signifiers of Lordship in Ancient Times. After all, Naga Sadow and Ludo Kressh dueled in front of the spirit of Marka Ragnos draped in the attire of Lords. When one was buried in the Ancient Era, they wore their best. In modern times, it is common for High Sorcerers within the guilds to roam Dyriliok in such attire. On Old Worlds, Lords—and others of high rank—still dress as the Lords of Korriban once did in their daily life. But for Vyrys—and other regular civilians—such attire is saved only for important sacramental events. Such as anointment into the Blood King’s Hands. “You got piercings.” Sidious comments, clicking on the next photo. “Y’eh, y’eh. I’m thinking of wearing them more. For cultural reasons and all.” Vyrys sighs, rubbing one of the four minuscule holes on his nose where a nose plate would traditionally go. “When did you get them?” Sidious is neutral on the idea—truly. It is frowned upon in certain cultures the human species to have facial piercings, it’s especially so in the aristocracy of Naboo—but so is being a Sith Lord. “A’bo took me to get ‘dem when I was 17.” Humans are deeply confusing to Vyrys. He and his father have their similarities— mutual interest in sorcery, blue eyes, ears, red hair, nose, they even share tonal and presence likenesses—however, Sidious is still human—and he is still Red Sith. According to his mother, at first, Sidious didn’t mesh with Dyriliok culture—even upon Kvevrik’s birth, despite Sidious being Sith in Order. But anyone with any knowledge of either is well aware that Red Sith and The Sith Order are nearly night-and-day in their differences. “Ah.” Sidious nods, unsurprised by this information. Before they can continue their conversation, Vyrys receives a call on the HoloProjector he was provided upon coming to the Republic. It’s Exalic Hyx. “Father.” Vyrys dismisses himself and stands as he answers it. “ _ Master _ .” Vyrys greets with a respectful nod. He must be here in the Republic. Vyrys knows that his father can understand Red Sith enough to listen in to their conversation. “ _ Xzsul—my apprentice, where are you? _ ” “ _ Korriban, my master. Covx instructed me to come here. _ ” Vyrys answers coolly, glancing over to his father for a second—Sidious is watching him intently. “ _ Are you alone? _ ” “ _ No, no, I’m with my bob’i. We were just finishing up. I’ll be back to Coruscant within the week _ . ” Vyrys answers evenly. “ _ Very well, my apprentice _ .” With that, Exalic Hyx ends the call. “I’m sorry, bob’i.” Vyrys frowns, he wears a sympathetic expression. “It’s fine, my son.” Sidious assures, standing up and moving to Vyrys’ side. “Serve your master well. Your obligation to him is first-and-foremost, as mine once was to my own master. When the time is right—when you’ve learned all that you can from him—strike him down take your rightful place as Dark Lord within your Order. That is the best advice I can give you. We will speak again, I’m sure—I’ll make it so. You’re my son and you’re growing into a fine young man. I sense your strength. In time—and with patience—you will become just as powerful as I. Of that, I’m positive. Keep yourself safe and do not fall into arrogance. I love you, Vyrys.” “I love you too, Bob’i. Thank you for speaking with me. Soon, I hope you’ll be able to meet Matik and Jylik. I have a suspicion I’ll be expecting a baby soon anyways.” 

It’s a few days later when he returns to Senate Apartment Complex—early night—as he quietly slinks down the hallway to the suite, he senses the distinct presence of strangers. Someone unfamiliar is there. With a sigh, Xzsul lets himself in. “VyVy!” Jylik squeaks when he enters the living room. She leads to meet their guest. “This is Padmé Amidala. She’s a senator from Naboo.” Jylik introduces him to her. She sits at their table. He sits adjacent, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “My name is Vyrys Xzsul.” He introduces, politely but obviously drained. “I heard you study the Force cults.” Padmé states politely, in an attempt to strike up a conversation. Xzsul can only assume everyone knows at this point—everyone who regularly interactions with the Hands. “I do. Well, kind of.” Xzsul nods, stifling a yawn. When Jylik hands him a cup of coffee, he smiles warmly and kisses her cheek. “Thank you so much, babe, love you.” Xzsul can sense Amidala’s thoughts go to her own lover—although he keeps himself from prying into the identity of who exactly it is. “I put a lot of sugar in it. I know you like it.” She informs. “Ah, must be the human side of me.” Vyrys smirks, taking a sip of it. Red Sith can’t taste sweet, they can still drink it but it’s processed differently than how humans taste it. Plus, due to the difference in environments, it is not able to grow in Blood Tribune—granted, smuggling still exists. “You’re half-human?” Amidala asks, taken back. There’s no use in hiding it, not that his father is exactly traceable. “Through my father—yes. I’m not sure where he’s from. We’re not super close. Humans don’t really live on Dyriliok. It’s dangerous for them.” There are various historical reasons for this, but many Red Sith will attempt to test humans who tread by themselves. Vyrys’ father never left the Gadow Complex and on quite a few occasions got into deadly conflicts with Red Sith—some of which Vyrys vividly remembers witnessing. Xzsul has seen his father use Qyâsik to kill many a Red Sith—it was their mistake for threatening him when Vyrys was around. “You know of the Republic’s situation with a cult?” “I am caught up for the most part.” He nods, eyes focusing to outside the window. Much like Dyriliok, Coruscant never rests—but it's bizarre and unsettling to not sense beastmounts and wildlife roaming the planet. “Sadly, whatever I find out is confidential. Under the Hand Code, I cannot interfere in other kingdom’s legal affairs. Nothing can be shared or disclosed. It messes with Qyâsik’s order.” Xzsul explains casually, focus moving back to her. “My apologizes, Senator Amidala of Naboo.” His smile is sympathetic. “Exalted Hand Reevix mentioned you’re from a Circle Complex. I’ve never heard of those, are they like apartments?” “In a sense.” Vyrys states, taking another sip. “Circle Complexes are self-sufficient mega apartments. Those who live in them have an ancestral heritage that dates back all the way to Korriban. We don’t use Blood Tribune Argents but any that’s earned has a 75% tithe taken out that is used to take care of any needs within the Complex that we cannot do ourselves. Not all of us live in Circle Complexes. Covx an Old World, and Jylik and Izyiza grew up on a regular apartment on the planet.” “Vyrys and Covx are the only ones in our group with any real combat training. In traditional Red Sith cultures, you learned how to fight as soon as you could walk. I went to a public school, Vyrys was taught by his Complex.” Jylik informs with a smile, taking Vyrys’ hand and squeezing it. “I went to school with Izyiza. I actually toured the Gadow Complex when I was in grade school. That’s how I met Vyrys and his family. We were both around nine. I think.” “So what compelled you to the Hands, Vyrys?” Amidala curiously asks, intrigued by this information. “My a’bo—my mother— was worried I’d join a cult.” Vyrys admits, an underlying irony in his tone. “Is that normal?” Amidala frowns. From her knowledge of the Sith Order, the idea that someone can be inducted into something like that so easily troubles her deeply. “Y’eh, y’eh, but it's a complicated situation.” Vyrys sighs, reclining back in the seat. “Circle Complexes are isolated from wider Sith Society. We have deeply ingrained cultures, religious beliefs, and rituals. Cults can provide one with a deeper knowledge of Qyâsik. Those in Circle Complexes are trained from birth in Qyâsik’s ways.” Xzsul sniffles another yawn, his eyelids are growing heavy. “ _ Babe, I need to sleep _ .” He frowns, standing up and putting the empty cup in the sink. “I apologize for having to end our conversation early. I am exhausted and require rest. I’m more than happy to speak later, however.” With that, Xzsul excuses himself but not before giving Jylik a soft kiss on the lips. “ _ Love you, baby _ .” “ _ I love you too, Jy. I’ll be in our room _ .” 

After early morning mediation, Xzsul strides into the living area. “ _ Vyrys, come _ .” Covx beckons. “ _ Yes, teacher? _ ” “ _ How are you? _ ” Covx asks, gesturing for Vyrys to take a seat on the sofa beside him. “ _ I’m good actually _ .” Vyrys admits with an earnest grin. Last night was the first time in a year that he’s gotten a night of restful sleep. Of course, being in the intimate embrace of a lover always helps soothe, it seems the deity was correct in its assumption that the two will be expecting children soon. Vyrys is thankful he brought all the needed medical devices for caring for a child through the post-birth stage. Unlike humans, A Red Sith is only in the womb for three months. When they’re born, they’re nurtured by feeding off Qyâsik’s energy via their caregivers. At six months, their eyes open and they can start to feed off physical nourishment. The opening of one’s eyes is considered their birthday in Red Sith Culture. Vyrys opened his eyes on his father’s birthday. This is why Red Sith can easily produce upwards to 20 or more children in a lifetime. Human pregnancies are much more strenuous on the mother than Red Sith’s are. “ _ Did anything happen on Korriban? _ ” “ _ I met a god and he cured me of my visions, Covx _ .” Vyrys smirks. “ _ I don’t even remember what I saw in them. It’s like I’ve never seen them. _ ” An alarm sets off in Covx’s mind and urgently inquires. “ _ What did you wager? What did you give to it, Vyrys? _ ” The edge in his voice is sharper than that of a ceremonial dagger. “ _ I gave nothing. It said it was the darkside personified. I saw it on Utjjlok when I went with my master. I saw it on the elevator before I went into the Core _ .” “ _ And you told no one about this until today? _ ” Covx can’t hide his hiss. He’s not angry but he has taught Vyrys better than to just entertain any deity that crosses his path. “ _ If it is the darkside than I serve it _ .” Vyrys shrugs nonchalantly, eyes glued to the HoloScreen. Covx snarls, picking at his chin in frustration. “ _ Bane, you utter fool _ .” That’s what causes Vyrys to blink and glare at Covx, brow furrowed. No one calls him his first name, he hasn’t been known by it since he was five years of age. Vyrys is only Bane when he’s in trouble—or the conversation is of dire seriousness. He can only assume both events are occurring. “ _ Covx, I had no choice. Would you prefer me to fall into madness? Have my entire life ruined? He helped me. I carried the burden that was required of me and it was lifted from my back. _ ” Vyrys deeply respects Covx. The man has acted as a surrogate father to him for years, but Covx isn’t the one who had to deal with the nightmarish visions—Vyrys is. He doesn’t expect Covx to be happy with his decisions but, at the very least, Covx should be understanding that it was this or insanity. “ _ Teacher, we’ve seen what these visions have done to people. A quarter of the Stalkers that were there have killed themselves. Another quarter has descended fully into madness—they might as well be dead _ .” He frowns, hoping the Elder Hand will at least understand his perspective. “ _ You wouldn’t have been there if you didn’t agree to Hyx’s teaching, Bane. _ ” “ _ I was ordered by the Blood King himself to be under Hyx’s tutelage. Was I supposed to disobey the King—especially after everything that happened prior? I was lucky to not be turned into a living mound of flesh, tortured for my entire lifespan. _ ” He subconsciously grits his teeth, his chest beginning to burn with growing anger. “ _ Don’t unmount your wrath on me, boy _ .” Covx hisses, harshly triking Vyrys across the mouth. It’s an action that throws cold water over the burning coals in his chest—instantly humbling him. “ _ Yes… Yes, teacher, my apologies for falling into anger. _ ” Vyrys frowns, resting his hands in his lap and looking downward at them. “ _ Until I die, I am your mentor. Hyx’s mastership over you is absolutely meaningless to me, Bane. I treat you with respect, I’ve always understood your situation. I expect the same treatment in turn. Understand? _ ” “ _ Yes, teacher. Please, forgive me. _ ” Vyrys sulks, feeling like a fool. Covx lets out a sigh, deflating—the tension in his body fading. “ _ You are forgiven, Vyrys. I was a young man once too. I understand the anger that rises in one’s chest but rage is a death sentence if not contained and sharpened to suit one’s situation _ .” Covx places a gentle hand on his shoulder, expression softening. Hyx—much like Vyrys—is a Hand who is from a Circle Complex. Covx grew up in an Old World—a planet that still follows the traditional ways of the Sith before the Jedi Exiles arrives. But the Red Sith Empire has changed, and there’s a dissonance in that. Most Red Sith on Dyriliok don’t live in Circle Complexes, and most Red Sith who live in the Complexes don’t interact with the wider population. It’s strange for a member of a Circle Complex to even join the King’s Ranks. The average Blood Tribune citizen views The Circle Complexes as more of a cultural niceties—a way of allowing those unable to move on with modern ways to live with them but separate. Vyrys was raised different than the average Hand but—then again—so was Covx. Dyriliok is a planet of over a trillion—200 billion of those citizens lives in Circle Complexes. Regardless, Vyrys faces a set of challenges very unique to a Complex dweller—one that typically causes them to join various cults. “ _ I’m sure Hyx will be curious of your predicament. He’s at the Jedi Temple. _ ” Covx informs with a gentle smile, a reassurance that he still cares for the younger Hand. “ _ Thank you, Covx. _ ” “ _ When you return, you and I are going to go on a research assignment together _ .” Covx informs, a smirk forming across his lips. “ _ Where to? _ ” Vyrys blinks as he stands. “ _ Dathomir. They’re home to numerous Witch clans but I’ll explain it to you more once we head out. _ ” 

Vyrys can’t help but wonder why exactly Exalic Hyx is at the Jedi Temple but the man is a battle sorcerer so it must be related to that. The Jedi know his name and face already so he has no issues getting in—and finding Hyx is effortless enough. He’s in the Jedi’s library. “Xzsul.” Hyx grins as Vyrys comes to his side. “ _ Why are you here? _ ” “ _ Doing your job _ .  _ Now, _ _ help me archive this shelf _ .” Hyx states and Vyrys gets to work, the Jedi haven’t provided them every title they have available but it’s to be expected. The Hands have limited power in the Republic—much like the Jedi do in the Blood Tribune. There’s a group of padawans that have congregated near them—observing them with interest. “ _ They’ve been here all day _ .” Hyx informs, glancing over his shoulder at the group. “ _ Well, they’ve never seen us. They’re likely wondering why we’re here. _ ” Vyrys shrugs, not ceasing from his record keeping. “ _ It’s a good break from the war for them _ .” “ _ They let them fight? These padawans are barely older than my little brother _ .” Vyrys instinctually frowns, gazing at the group for a second before shaking his head. “ _ Strange, I know. We don’t even do that. _ ” “ _ No, we don’t. Seems like a sad waste of life _ .” They continue back to their work. They have a limited period each day to do all they can. Conversations can wait until after. They work until lunch—when that times come, their work period has ended for the day. “ _ The Jedi said we can eat at their dining hall _ .” Hyx informs, leading Vyrys to it. Vyrys scans the room, quickly noticing how full it is, he also takes notes of many different species that are apart of the Order. In his mind, the term Jedi has always been synonymous with human. All his life, a human who uses Qyâsik has been commonly labeled: Jedi. Whereas, other species who use it are known as sorcerers, occultists, priests, etc. There are a plethora of commonly used titles. Hyx leads him to get his food, once they’ve got it, they sit together at an empty table. “ _ You sense anyone familiar? _ ” Hyx asks, taking a bite of the bland food. The Jedi cooking—much like their Code—leaves much to be desired and only serves to sustain the bare requirements. “ _ Not really. I don’t know anyone here _ .” Vyrys shrugs as he slowly eats, his eyes scanning for any familiar faces. “ _ If you see one of those wookie-things then that’s probably the one who broke my nose at 13 _ .” “ _ Why did it do that? Surely it wasn’t an unprovoked attack _ .” Hyx pries, eyebrow quirked. “ _ I can tell you the story _ .” Vyrys offers slyly, a small smirk forming. “ _ Go ahead, we have time. _ ” “ _ Well _ .” Vyrys takes a deep breath, pausing to compose it. “ _ My first name is Bane _ .” He starts, Hyx listening with his full attention. “ _ It was my father’s decision to name me after him. Three years after Chancellor Palpatine was elected, the Republic and Blood Tribune started a small program to open a dialogue between us. There were quite a few scholars picked to come to Coruscant and lecture on their specific field—my mother being one of them. I wanted to go with her because I had never seen this planet. She said I could. My mother is an academic expert on cults—presumedly, what would be considered lightside cults _ .” He pauses for a moment to take a bite of his food and drink a sip of water. “ _ The Jedi asked my mother to speak, she had free time so she agreed. I was younger—on a strange, human planet—so I had to come with her to this weekend-long seminar. Now, I couldn’t just go by Vyrys Xzsul because my mother was scared it could be traced to my father. So I went by Bane Gadow instead. Little did either of us know that three years prior, the Republic’s Sith Order had returned in the Republic, and a Banite Sith had killed a Jedi—Jinn, I believe his name was _ .” “ _ Oh _ .” Hyx blinks, intrigue growing. He shifts in his seat, eyes trained on Xzsul intently. “ _ So you came into their Order named after the man who founded the rival Order without even realizing it? _ ” He asks for clarification. “ _ Y’eh, y’eh _ .” Vyrys sighs, nodding. “ _ All the older Jedi were nice to me, correctly assuming that it was an obvious cultural disconnect. To an extent, they were right—to my defense— mostly all my siblings are named after some prominent Sith figure. Myself included. But the younger ones had an immediate issue with me. It’s only natural, my father had named me after Darth Bane. The Jedi don’t like Darth Bane _ .” Vyrys gestures as he speaks, keeping his voice rather low. “ _ So three padawan had been staring me down the whole last day. Word travels pretty fast in the Jedi Temple apparently and by the end of the first day, they all knew my name was Bane and I was Sith. By the second day, I might as well have been Darth Bane himself because there was hostility. They didn’t act on it, but I sensed it. But I’m from a Circle, by the time I was a teenager, I could defend myself. My sorcery skills weren’t super strong but they rarely are at that age _ .” “ _ Was there anyone in particular who had an issue with you? _ ” Hyx questions, looking around the hall for any potential candidates to Vyrys’ incoming answer. “ _ Y’eh, y’eh, this one human boy who was near my age. A Rodian friend of his and a Wookie friend of his. I’m unsure of their names sadly. So it was the last day, lunchtime, I think my father had shown up to see the ending of it all because my mother had to leave earlier than typical. She said it was to prepare but I sensed his presence as soon as he entered. He can hide from strangers and them but I’m his son. I could spot him out of millions—no trillions. _ ” Vyrys pauses again, realizing he’s gone on an unrelated tangent for a minute. “ _ As I was saying, she leaves and I’m alone—still eating. They approach me, some words are traded, it escalates, and in like a second I’m on top of the closest one to me. The Wookie. I’ve never been tall so I only get a few punches in, before I’m on my back, getting beat up. My mother and father must’ve heard the commotion because they both walk in. Now, you know how Sith parents are. I think one of the Jedi wanted my mom to interfere but my mother just let me get my ass beat for like 15 minutes until finally stepping in and breaking it up. _ ” “ _ I assume neither of them were happy. _ ” Hyx snickers, shaking his head in bemusement. “ _ Luckily, the chancellor was there. So I had to explain to both of them that they started it. I was just eating —minding my own business. Keep in mind, my nose is broke, so is my right cheek so I’m in intense pain. I was sobbing, explaining that I sensed no one liked me and the only reason they came after me, was because I was Sith and my name was Bane. Were they happy? No, of course not. Did my father teach me the error of my ways? Yes. But it was settled that it wasn’t fully my fault because there were Jedi there who backed up my story. I hadn’t started the conflict, I had just has threw the first punch—a very Sith thing to do _ .” “ _ What happened to the Jedi? _ ” Hyx asks, finishing up his meal. “ _ Not sure, I remember the human looking at the chancellor with a lot of betrayal, like he was his son and I had just gotten the favor he thought he rightfully deserved _ .” 


	3. DATHOMIR

Elation and bliss grows in Vyrys’ chest at every passing minute. He’s a father. In three months, he will have a baby. Jylik informed him of the news shortly after they left orbit. It’s been all he can think about. “ _ Covx, I’am goin’ t’ be a bob’i. _ ” He smirks wickedly, they’re close to Dathomir now. “ _ By the time I get home, I’am goin’ t’ have a baby _ .” “ _ Congratulations, Vyrys. Once we return, you and her can rest until the baby is situated _ .” Covx assures, smiling at the other man. There are countless things the young couple will have to work out—where the baby will grow up, the name of the baby, the last name the baby will have—but for now, Covx lets Vyrys relish in this happy moment. “ _ Does your family know? _ ” “ _ Not yet, I’am goin’ t’ tell everyone when I return. My cousin—Niil—is somewhere in the Republic, once I tell him everyone will know. He can’t keep his mouth shut. _ ” Vyrys is smiling more sincerely than Covx has ever seen before, it’s obvious he’s elated by the news. “ _ Have you two thought of names? _ ” “ _ Y’eh, kinda _ .” Vyrys confirms, reclining back in the Chwayat-Itsu’s co-pilot seat. “ _ If it is a boy, we will name it Raine—an ancestral name of hers. And if it is a girl, we will name it Desna—an ancestral name of mine. If we have twins, we’ll name the girl and boy each of those _ .” Twins run in the Gadow family, Vyrys himself has younger twin siblings and his mother has four sets of twin brothers. Because of this, he made sure to have brought at least three pre-birth incubators with him. Red Sith typically hold their pre-birth offspring when they feed, but at night it is safest to put the baby in one so that they can keep warm and still draw from Qyâsik while the caregivers sleep. Covx hates to reel Vyrys away from the joy he has while discussing his upcoming children, but Dathomir is in view and there are things important matters to discuss. “ _ Dathomir is a planet of witches, from my research they are very misandrist. Much like us, they view Qyâsik in a more mystical light. We have no history with them but I feel once they know of us, we will get along nicel _ y.” Covx senses Vyrys’ unease. “ _ You’re… We’re going to a planet with inhabitants that know nothing of us? _ ” He sounds heartbroken, like someone being asked to fight a wild beast. Covx wasn’t expecting Jylik to become pregnant when he formulated this expedition. “ _ This is apart of the job, Vyrys _ .” Covx states blankly, not making eye contact with the other as they walk off. An hour passes before Vyrys returns and when they do, Vyrys looks as he did before the Sadow Cult. His red hair is shaven into a buzzcut, and his attire is that of a Banite Order Sith Apprentice—granted he wears the Hand’s cloak. “ _ I thought you were planning on letting your hair grow and twisting it again? _ ” Covx inquires in jest but Vyrys seemingly doesn’t give him any response. Combat in the Blood Tribune is close-combat based, many have died because an enemy has grabbed them by the hair and decapitated them—because of this, it’s common for one to shave their head if they perceive being in a sword fight. “ _ Did you… bring a lightsaber? _ ” “ _ Yes, teacher. I also brought my spellbook on blood sorcery. _ ” “ _ How did you hide that? _ ” Under any other circumstance, Covx would be furious at Vyrys—bringing a lightsaber to Republic territory is asking for issues with the Jedi Order and it also symbolizes one’s allegiance to a cult—but Vyrys is an expecting father going to a planet where survival is not promised. “ _ It doesn’t matter _ .” No answer from Vyrys, but it’s to be expected. Covx can only assume that Hyx smuggled it—or just brought two. Hyx is a card-carrying Banite Sith so it’s legal—but bringing it to the Republic is risky. “ _ Did you bring your card? _ ” “ _ I won’t need it. I keep it in the ship for missions like these _ .” Vyrys’ voice is calm but has a sharp edge. “ _ That’s what you were doing with Exalic then? You were Sith training? _ ” “ _ I was, I’m no duelist but between the lightsaber and my knowledge of sorcery, I can handle whoever I need to defend myself against _ .” It’s good to know Vyrys is only bringing these materials as a safety measure. “ _ Don’t let your nerves control you, Vyrys. If you bring those things, you’re opening yourself up to lethal options when none may be needed. _ ” Covx warns, landing the ship in front of the Nightsister compound. “ _ Covx, I didn’t even use weapons against Ragnik when he was two steps in front of me. _ ” “ _ Ragnik used Qyâsik’s speed against you, Vyrys, you didn’t have a chance to use any other methods against him _ .” 

Vyrys is cordial and diplomatic when the Nightsisters approach them. “Greetings, my name is Vyrys Xzsul—and this my colleague: Covx” Vyrys pauses to gesture to the Elder Hand that stands at his side. “I’am a Red Sith from the Blood Tribune. My mentor and I were just in the area and we were wondering if we could learn about your people.” He smiles like a politician—like his father does when he appears on the HoloNet, and his is just as fake as his father’s is. Two women of the greeting party trade words with each other that Vyrys, nor Covx, can understand. “We will take you Mother Talzin. She knows of your kind.” That eases Vyrys’ nerves, Covx nods to him reassuringly and they follow the small group into the Nightsister’s Compound. 

Vyrys feels at home here, their compounds look much like the guild halls of Jxilo X and Qyâsik’s energy is familiar to him. It flows naturally here as it does Dyriliok. “I’ve heard of your kind before.” Mother Talzin’s voice gets their attention before they actually can see her. Much like The Blood King, her voice a harmony of many. “We feel that our people share a kinship in beliefs.” Covx politely smiles, bowing his head—an action that Vyrys mimics. She is a tall and pale woman, face decorated in dark tribal paint. Her crimson robes elaborate and sign of her high priesthood—in Vyrys’ eyes. “What are your intentions?” She questions, standing before the two. They can sense other bodies in the shadows—all of whom are on edge, which leads Vyrys to assume that weapons are trained on them. But that is to be expected, he’d be worried if this unknown circle of witches welcomed them with open arms. “Our people simply wish to observe your traditions and culture.” Covx answers cordially. “We will answer any—and all—questions you have for us in turn. If you wish us to leave, we shall immediately.” Mother Talzin gives no quick answer, scanning the two men before her keenly. “I believed the Red Sith to be a dead kind, it seems I was wrong in my assumptions.” She offhandedly comments in an idle voice. She then places her hand on both’s men cheek and Vyrys feels something in his spirit be pulled from him—much like what the Son did on Korriban. He understands then-and-there that she’s testing the validity of their claims. Talzin spends a few minutes mauling over a piece of the memories of both men. “A young father and a man who lives in the customs of long-dead time. Intriguing.” She muses with a whisper. “I will personally show you around.” Talzin gestures for the guards in the shadow to disperse. As she walks off, the two Hands follow at her side. “What brings your kind back to the Republic?” “The Galactic Civil War you’re currently experiencing.” Vyrys answers, pulling out his notebook and beginning to log their conversation. Talzin hums in acknowledgment. “Oh? And how does the Red Sith’s Blood Tribune feel about our… Situation?” “Most don’t know—or care.” Covx admits meekly. Talzin seems understanding of this. “How are your people governed?” “A holy monarchy—to put it simplistically.” The political architecture is wildly complex yet plainly simple. The complex answer is that every law is modified on a planetary basis by the Red Council of Unified Planets. the Blood King and the Decaying Father hold the power but cultures must be reserved. A law that works on a planet like Dyriliok would not work on a planet like Xiojl. Any planet that takes part in the Red Council of Unified Planets is considered a Crown World. These planets are typically extremely developed economic and cultural hubs for the Blood Tribune. Old Worlds run on their own, isolated political systems. They’re inhabitants followers of the Old Ways—direct descendent of the Red Sith of Korriban. Meanwhile, Cult Worlds run on systems all their own. Regardless, all are within the jurisdiction of the Blood King. It is a complicated and disjointed political system— one that Vyrys isn’t very privy to. “Do the Jedi know of your kinds existence?” Is the next question Talzin asks the two—a hint of intrigue in her voice. “They do, wise one.” Vyrys nods as they follow Talzin through the compound. Covx is diligently making a report as Vyrys speaks more to her. “Maleling, are you a good servant to your woman?” It’s out of the blue but Vyrys understands it's directed to him. “She hasn’t told me otherwise.” He thinly veils the grin that’s beginning to form. “We’re expecting to have a child in three months.” He admits proudly, not passing up the opportunity to share the news. Vyrys would tell the Blood King himself if he was within earshot. “Ah, so you’re trying to escape before the child is birthed. Attempting to prolong your life.” “No, No.” Vyrys wears a small frown, shaking his head. “In my culture, both parents raise the children—together. Traditionally, men would care for the young until the child reached adolescence but times have changed. I’am just a government worker so this is apart of my job. I’d never run. I already have a son, this will be my second child.” One doesn’t have to be force-sensitive to able to feel Vyrys’ excitement. It’s only natural—it would be highly worrying if he wasn’t consumed by boundless elation at the realization he’s expecting a second—maybe even third— a child in three months. “Here, men are chosen by women. We keep them separated from us but when the time to mate nears for a woman, she picks a specimen who suits her. Once the deed is done, she kills the man. Very different from your people, yes, Vyrys Xzsul?” “Yes, wise one, we’re traditionally monogamous. I’m only going to leave Jylik if she—or I—die. But if nothing happens to either of us, we’ll be together for the next…” Vyrys pauses, calculating his age with the average natural death age of a Red Sith. “… 179 years.” “Wise One, would it be fine with you if we met these men for research purposes?” Covx inquires, returning his datapad to his cloak. “You may, after I let you two see our prison.” 

Vyrys senses a gaze on him straight away. He’s letting Covx speak, he’s done enough talking in his mind. As they talk, he trails a few steps behind in an attempt to find who’s watching him. He’s never even heard of Dathomir so no one should know him. As Vyrys walks past a cell, the collar of his cloak is grabbed by one of the prisoners, stopping him dead in his tracks. He muffles a surprised squeak and Covx glances at him. “ _ It’s fine—go, both of you. _ ” Vyrys assures, waving the two off. They resume their conversation, leaving Vyrys alone with the unknown prisoner. “Yes?” He asks politely, her pulling a seat to him with Qyâsik and sitting on it. The woman before him looks like every other Nightsister he’s seen today—pale skin, near-white hair, light-colored eyes. “Know you.” The woman states hoarsely in broken Basic, voice a low hiss. Vyrys furrows his brow, visibly confused. “You must have me confused with another. We’ve never met.” “I, Kycina.” She introduces, placing a hand on her chest. “I’am Vyrys Xzsul. It’s nice to meet you, Kycina.” He softly smiles, the name rings no bells. Maybe he looks like someone she’s met. “Maul, my son, know him?” She questions, staring watchfully to gauge his reaction. Vyrys runs through the name of everyone he’s ever met.  _ Maul _ —there’s no one in the Gadow complexed with either that as a first or last name.  _ Maul _ —it could be a Jedi but he doesn't know enough Jedi to know if that’s the case.  _ Maul _ —it’s not a Red Sith name, it’s not even a word within the lexicon. “My apologizes, Kycina.” He frowns openly. “I’ve never met a Maul before. I’am not from this region.” It’s now Kycina’s turn to frown, “Sorry.” She mumbles, backing away—defeated. “It’s alright, Kycina.” Vyrys nods, standing to his feet. “I hope that you’re able to find him. If I ever happen to meet him, I’ll tell him to return to you.”

Covx and Vyrys walk into the nightbrother village with no fanfare—nothing but a vague announcement to their leader named Viscus. “ _ Z’broks _ .” Vyrys tells Covx upon seeing the residents. “Zabr'ks.” Covx agrees with a nod, not butchering the pronunciation as much as Vyrys. “ _ Zab’brakes _ .” Vyrys makes another quiet attempt to properly pronounce the species’ name. “ _ Just call them Nightbrothers. Your accent is too strong _ .” Covx sighs as they head to an area they were told is known as the Cubicle. They say nothing, being careful to not interrupt the rigorous training the nightbrothers are doing. “ _ These men are very tall _ .” Vyrys comments to Covx. “ _ They are warriors—like us, they are supposed to be tall. You are short because your father is short. They could throw you like a spear—be careful. _ ” Covx comments back in jest, causing Vyrys to faintly snicker, shaking his head in bemusement. “ _ Covx, I know this is sudden but I was thinking… _ ” Vyrys stares at Covx, lost in thought. “…  _ I’am not close t’ my father, y’know. When I get back home, ‘dey will not have a grandfather. I’am terribly close to my Bib’i—he raised me—I want my children to have ‘dat. Could you…? _ ” Vyrys doesn’t finish the question but Covx already knows his answer. “ _ Of course, Vyrys. You are like my own son. I will help with your young. _ ” “ _ Thank you, Covx _ .” Vyrys smiles warmly as the Nightbrother’s training ends and they all disperse. “ _ Speak to any who interest you, I’ll speak to their leader. Go. _ ” Covx orders and Vyrys obeys, walking to the first two he sets his eyes on. They’re both yellow with brown tribal tattoos. “Hi, I’am Vyrys Xzsul. May I speak with you two—just for a moment?” Vyrys introduces themselves to the two, the older one glares distrustfully at him for a few moments before answering. “I’m Savage Oppress.” He introduces himself first then the other. “This is my brother, Feral—“ “We’ll speak with you.” Feral nods, Vyrys senses that he’s not as cautious. 

They lead Vyrys to their small hut and they sit at the table. “You’re a Nightbrother too?” Feral asks, taking note of Vyrys’ brands and skin tone. Vyrys realizes that cutting his hair this short likely wasn’t the best choice for this assignment. “No, no. I’am a Red Sith. I’am actually from the other side of the galaxy.” “Then why are you here, Virus?” Savage inquires wearily, Vyrys ignores the mispronunciation of his name—it sounds different with a Sith accent anyways. “I’am just here to learn about your people.” He discloses evenly, rubbing his right cheek ridge. “If you do not wish to speak, I can leave.” “Are you from Coruscant?” Savage asks another question, not changing much in his cautious disposition. “No, I’am from Dyriliok—it’s far away—I’am not even a Republic citizen. I’am currently stationed there.” “I’ve never heard of it.” Savage mumble, side-eyeing at Covx from out of the window. He’s not impressed, these two strangers are just voyeurs coming to observe them. For all he knows, they may be rival Nightsisters in disguise—one can never be too sure. Feral—on the other hand— is far more receptive to the words of their off-planet guest. “Did your face tattoos hurt?” Feral’s eyes focus on the brands on Vyrys’ face. They’re far too detailed to be tribal tattoos—column-like, like bas-relief on one’s flesh. “These are brands.” Vyrys politely corrects, finger tracing over the brand on his right eye. “And ye’h, they hurt worse than anything I’ve ever endured.” He then rolls up both of his sleeves until they’re at his elbow. “I have them here. Elbow to wrist.” Both Feral and Savage examine them closely, interest finally peaked. “What do they mean?” Savage questions, moving his eyes to scan the brands on Vyrys’ face. “This one symbolizes our beginning—my people’s days on Korriban before we had space travel and were unknown to the galaxy.” Vyrys presses the brand under his left eye. “This one is our arrival into the Unknown regions of space. Our building of a civilization under the guidance of the Decaying Father.” He presses the brand under his right eye. “This one is the current day. It’s a symbol of our success and our advancement as a people. It is a constant reminder that even though the Humans—the Republic—the Jedi—all of them, have tried to kill us. We are Sith. We never die and our people thrive more than our ancestors could ever imagine. Their suffering is why we are strong—why we are forever eternal.” Vyrys speaks with complete and utter conviction—passion in it’s the purest form, his left index finger pointing to his right forearm. “This one is the future. My species is left-hand dominant. So it is only fitting that the future is transcribed there. We cannot predict the future. There may be war, peace, advancement, decline, we may even all disappear into the void of space in the next century. But no matter what, we will never disappear fully. Even in our absence, we are remembered. It aligns with the left brand under my eye because our future is only possible because of our past. That is the meaning of each.” His explanation suffices both men tenfold. It eases Savage’s spirit to hear such a passionate and lengthy explanation of the brands. No rival Nightsister clan could just make something like that up—and deep inside his being, Savage feels like Vyrys is being earnest in his words. “What ritual do they use?” Feral asks, still eyeing them. “There’s no ritual. If you’d like, I can explain the process.” Vyrys offers and both nod, a gesture for him to share this information with the both of them. “As you’ve likely noticed, these brands are extremely detailed. What they do is first they tattoo the outline onto you. Some of us have face tendrils, others—like myself— do not, so every Hand must have it customized to their facial structure. After that, they have these metal pins that they heat up, this process is quite ancient so we do not use modern technology like lasers.” Vyrys pauses to roll his sleeves back down. “You sit there, and for multiple hours a day, you are branded. This is a highly, highly sacred rite of passage for Hands. You get no numbing agents, no tethers to keep you from moving. If your brands end up getting messed up, it’s seen as a poor reflection on you—a permeant reminder of your inability to do what must be done—what is expected. We’re not a species who worships pain, we’re not the Vong, but for things like this one is expected to wade through it. Our ancestors used to get stung by sand-nest scorpions to mark themselves when they achieved Lordship—this is no different in our eyes.” Vyrys pauses when the two blink at him in confusion. He cocks his head to left ever-so-slightly, perplexed by their confusion until he remembers that the Vong are not a common species here. Regardless, he continues as though there’s no cultural disconnect. “They spend a week on branding. If you’re not finished in that week, you have to wait another year—and you’re not inducted until the brands are completed. That’s the jest of it.” He shrugs, waiting for their responses. “What is… If that's what being a Hand is like, what is marriage like?” Feral asks, dumbfounded by the explanation. Vyrys softly laughs, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, that’s not anything bad. You find your life partner, if you both like each other, you mate. From there, you stay with each other for life and have kids. Nothing too intense. We’re really not that bad.” Vyrys assures in jest, realizing he’s made the Red Sith seem more like ritual obsessed sadists—not a good look to portray. “We have an extremely developed civilization. It’s just we—like all people—have certain traditions that are hard to shake. Much like your people, we practice magic—we call it Qyâsik—and some of us learn how to fight from a young age. You must understand, our people have existed for hundreds of thousands of years. One day, you should try to visit the Blood Tribune, it’s a near-impossible task but if you know the right people, it can be done—“ “ _ Vyrys _ .” Covx stands in the doorway, arms folded. Savage’s eyes dart between the two men, no way these two share a species. Covx looks vaguely Geonosian, meanwhile, Vyrys is far too human-like. He’s almost a hornless, Dathomirian man in appearance. “ _ We’ve learned everything of note. Let’s go. _ ” “ _ Of course, Covx _ .” Vyrys stands and says his goodbye. “I must leave, Savage and Feral. I wish you both the best. Thank you for your time and knowledge. May Qyâsik bathe you in the blood of your enemies.” He smiles kindly, bowing his head respectfully.

Once the Chwayat-Itsu hits orbit, Vyrys immediately finds Niil Gadow’s contact information on the vessel’s computer and calls his cousin. Niil is his age and a long-time friend. Niil fled the Circle Complex at fifteen, given the opportunity to work in the underworld of a far-off territory—the Republic. Vyrys saw him shortly before the Sadow Cult mission but Niil left just when he returned to Dyriliok. “ _ Will he answer? _ ” Covx questions idly, too focused on space navigation than Vyrys’ conversation. “ _ Maybe. It’s worth a try _ .” After a few minutes of waiting, Niil appears on the other line. “ _ Vy!? _ ” He smirks wildly. Covx instantly can tell Niil is tweaking off Blood. Many Red Sith can get high off Blood—it had its usefulness in the old days when fighting was commonplace. The substance can give one a rush paramount to few others, but if abused one’s body can peel away and their sanity becomes lost. This is a rarity in modern days, as Blood is a full-fledged and booming industry in the Blood Tribune. Most of it is now safe and artificial, unless one is abusing the Blood directly from the veins or the waste from Purifiers—which itself is an entirely different predicament. “ _ Niil, where are you? _ ” Vyrys smiles and Covx can see the excitement beaming through his eyes. “ _ I’am workin’ for some humans. ‘Day called Death Watch—or somethin’—‘day like us. _ ” Niil grins, taking a sip of some unknown fluid. Covx can’t identify it, but Vyrys apparently can because he frowns. “ _ Niil, you need t’ not drink ‘dat shit. You goin’ t’ die because you won’t be aware _ .” “ _ Shut up, temple boy. I’am not interested in your words _ .” Niil scoffs rather lightheartedly, his high is obvious to Covx now. “ _ I won’t hold you, Niil. Look, whenever you can, call me back when you thinkin’ right, y’eh. Don’t trust these humans—nobody here. I don’t want to tell auntie and uncle that you died because you wanted to participate in Republic bullshit _ .” “ _ Y’eh, y’eh, go pray at the Gadow Temple and be a sorcerer like bib’i _ .” Niil laughs far too jovially, but Vyrys doesn’t respond with the same enthusiasm. “ _ Stay safe, Niil. I’ll call later. I love you _ .” “ _ I love you too. _ ” When the call ends, Vyrys buries his face in his hands and groans frustratedly. “ _ My brother probably got to him _ .” He hisses to Covx. “ _ The scraperacer—Sheev? _ ” “ _ Y’eh, y’eh. Sheev. I love him but he probably tryin’ t’ do something’ stupid. _ ” Covx is unsure of what person Vyrys is referring to in his statement but he’s more than happy to listen. “ _ Which one? _ ” “ _ Both _ .” Vyrys frowns, looking through the window in front of them. Space is much safer here—Well, outside of the warring governments. “ _ I’m sorry, Vyrys. I never met Niil but he seemed off _ .” “ _ He’s been like that my whole life _ .” Vyrys bitterly laughs, mindlessly flipping through Chwayat-Itsu’s communication system. It occasionally will pick up on another ship’s communications and you can hear things. Vyrys used it as a radio during his travel to the Republic. It’s how he learned about the Republic’s clone army. Well, he can only assume they’re clones—or he’s just been hearing the same man every time. He’s purposely stayed uneducated on all things relating to this war. “ _ Criminally inclined? _ ” Covx words it as respectfully as possible, being careful to not offend him. “ _ No, no. He just likes to fight, explore, fly starships. That kind of stuff _ .” Vyrys shrugs with a sigh. So far, all the Chwayat-Itsu is picking up is static. He decides to leave it for five minutes more—when that time is done, he’ll turn it off and sleep. Covx quietly nods, not having anything to add to the discussion. He knows better than to speak of family with others, it tends to resurface sensitive emotions. Emotions far better suited to a more constructive environment. However, through the humming static of the communication system, the need to discuss more serious matters stirs in Covx’s chest. For the time being, both of them are stuck together. The Chwayat-Itsu is not a spacious vessel, having little more than a cockpit, storage room, and tiny med-bay. It’s the perfect place to have an unavoidable conversation. “ _ Vyrys _ .” Covx’s tone is careful but firm. “ _ We’ll be here for many more hours. I want to speak to you about your apprenticeship with Exalic Hyx. _ “ “ _ What of it? _ ” Vyrys asks, an underlying edge in his tone. They’ve never fully discussed this matter. Things have only gotten more hectic—faster— since the Obsidian God cult. “ _ I understand that he and you have kinship. You’re both from the Ragnos District—both half-sith, both from small families—but I’ve known Exalic for decades. I’ve known Exalic’s teacher as well. _ ” “ _ Covx, his background is not my concern. He will tell me anything he feels is important _ .” The lack of reception of his words makes Covx sigh. “ _ I know you tried to speak to my A’bo about my choice to continue tutelage under Hyx _ .” Vyrys frowns, lips pursed. For the first time, Xzsul seems genuinely hurt. “W _ hat did she tell you? _ ” He’s aware of what was said, but he has to hear Covx’s side. It’s a test of honesty in Vyrys’ mind. “ _ She wasn’t very concerned—outwardly at least. _ ” Covx’s statement is true. His mother—while unhappy—has fully resigned to the reality that one of her children would become a cultist. Her mate is one so it only natural that one of their children would be inclined to such behavior. “ _ I understand that your father is an cultist. That all of this isn’t a big deal to her—maybe she has come to expect it due to her relationship with your father— But Hyx is a murderer and a psychopath. He’s done monstrous things. He is an incredible conjuror and alchemist but he lacks character and he has little respect for Ancient Law. Nor she or you know Hyx as I do. It is troubling to me that he sees himself in you _ .  _ I will do whatever I feel is needed to separate him from you. For your own sake. _ ” This statement garners an immediate and hissed reply from Vyrys. “ _ Covx, I care deeply for you, but if you ever let the Jedi in on my—or my family’s—affairs, I’ll… _ ” Vyrys pauses, choosing his words wisely. His voice is small—anxious. Covx stares intently, waiting for him to finish his warning. “ _ If the Jedi find out who I’am. Who I’m related to, they’ll kill me—they’ll kill him. The Jedi are not our friends, they only tolerate us because our power. They can kill my father just on suspicion alone—no trial needed. They can do the same to me. You don’t understand the stress of all this. Please, I choose this path—I choose all the negatives that come with it—but please, Covx, don’t add grief to my family. I’ve lost enough great uncles and cousins already. My mother couldn’t live if we both died. Please, just leave me to my own devices. _ ” Vyrys pleas in a shallow whisper, eyes fixed on his hands. The Jedi are enemies of the Sith Order. Both are cults, but one can slaughter the other with no repercussions, while the other can’t. As soon as Vyrys was old enough to understand the concept, it was drilled into his head relentlessly. It’s a terrifying reality for a child to face but one that was never sugarcoated or hidden from him—the knowledge that if any Jedi even believes your father is a Sith, he'll be murdered. The Jedi may murder you even—if they believe it will draw out your father. The Jedi are benign in comparison to other cults—weak compared to the average Blood Tribune battle sorcerer—but their legal backing makes them dangerous. The only way to destroy the Jedi—in Vyrys’ mind—is to turn that same government against them. Any cult that allies itself with the government to destroy another is opening itself for the same treatment eventually. “ _ You believe you being here is a danger to your family? _ ” “ _ Does it matter how I feel? Covx, you and I are close but you don’t understand what it’s like to never know when—if—your father will die and if it does happen, you’ll never even know it because you’re so far away. All because the Jedi have this pious and arrogant belief they’re the harbingers of good and anything that deviates is evil and should be purged. I can never—will never— have the relationship I want with my father. He couldn’t teach me how to fight, sorcery, the way of my people—anything. If I would have known that you’d even think about using my personal life against me—against my family— I’d have never told you. _ ” It’s now Covx’s turn to frown, his gaze softens. “ _ Vyrys, I’d never do that to you. I just don’t want you to be caught in something you can’t get out of. I just know Exalic. I know what he gets up to in his spare time. You can’t stop your father from dying if the Jedi— _ “ “ _ Who said I was scared he’d die? _ ” Xzsul’s eyes glint sharply for a second. “ _ He knows what he’s doing. If he dies, that means he was weak—I love him but it’s a reality of the life he chooses. My reasons for agreeing to be taught are solely for my own benefit. _ ” It’s a near knee-jerk reaction from the younger man—like something in him has been flipped. “ _ Does Jylik know about this? _ ” “ _ She knows I follow in the footsteps of my father. _ ” It’s not a sufficient answer but a silent admission that she doesn’t know the extent of Xzsul’s obligations. “ _ Vyrys, she isn’t from a Circle. She’s grown up as a commoner. Her parents and family work in the business district. You have a responsibility to tell her what you’ve decided to do—especially because it will affect her _ .” Covx runs his hands over his face, exhaling exasperatedly. “ _ Does she even understand what Circle life will entail? Vyrys, people like her don’t have to live by Ancient Law as we do. Please tell me you two didn’t just rush into a relationship without working out the logistics _ .” “ _ We’re probably going to live in the Citadel, as other Hands do. Other Hands have families _ .” Vyrys shrugs, thinly veiling his annoyance. “ _ You’re not like a typical Hand. Hands don’t come from Circle Complexes normally. You, Exalic, and maybe ten others are the only Circle Dwellers apart of the Dyriliok Hands. There are those apart of Old Worlds, like me, but Old Worlders and Circle Dwellers live a life that’s a far cry from the lives Citizens like Jylik live. _ ” It’s a bitter reality that Vyrys and Jylik will have to face. Circle Dwellers live by the laws that governed those in the Ancient Times but in exchange, they reserve themselves to isolated and communal existences. Circle Dwellers can have careers within the Dyriliok Citizen spaces—many do—but transitioning from one space to the other is a taxing process. Most Circle Dwellers who transition into a Citizen __ life find it to be miserable and empty and fall into deep depressions. Most Citizens who attempt to live amongst Circle Dwellers are put off by the latter’s esoteric rituals and extremely lax laws in regards to murder and fighting. The two groups respect each other mutually but are far too caught up in their own existences to interact constantly. Dyriliok is a well-oiled machine and despite all its technological advances and niceties, it is still a harsh place to live. Even if that harshness is padded over by entertainment and modernity. “ _ She’s visited my family and I’ve visited hers. _ ” Vyrys informs plainly. “ _ And? How did she react? _ ” “ _ We went to the Ragnos and ate dinner with my family. She seemed… underwhelmed. _ ” Vyrys frowns, sighing and rubbing his left temple. Covx hums, unsurprised. “ _ How did her family react to you? _ ” Covx asks, maneuvering the Chwayat-Itsu through a small meteor field. “ _ They live a very different reality than I—or even my Circle—does. We love each other, it’ll work. It worked for my parents. _ ” “ _ Your parents are not everyone in the Blood Tribune. It must be Qyâsik’s bidding for them to be together because very few could manage it. Vyrys, for both of your sake, you must speak candidly about this with each other. There is no in-between with Circle Dweller and Citizen, what you want your children to be raised as she might not. _ ”


	4. GUIDANCE

There are few people Vyrys can turn to, and with the second stage of Jylik’s pregnancy two months away, he’s found that Exalic Hyx is the best option. The Jedi Temple Library still needs to be logged so he will assist Hyx until the pre-birth period. _“Twins? Congratulations, my apprentice. You’ll have your hands full_ .” Hyx shoots him a grin as he logs on the left datapad shelf, Vyrys logs the right. Their job is nothing more than collecting the names of the books and categorizing them. It’s mind-numbing and dull work but work that must be done nonetheless. “ _Thank you, master._ ” Vyrys nods then sighs. “ _I think… I think she assumes I’ll be leaving the Circles once we return though_ .” “ _Will you?_ ” Hyx asks a question he already knows the answer to. “ _No, I can’t—I won’t. I could never live as a Citizen. I’am a member of the Gadow Circle_ .” “ _They live a shallow life, Vyrys. The life of a Citizen is vapid and empty. They rejected the traditions of our ancestors willingly yet many of them have the audacity to look at us as arcane and isolated—relics of a past time_ .” Hyx lowly sneers, shaking his head as he pauses from his work. “ _Finish your shelf while I speak. You’re still young and haven’t interacted with the Citizens enough. Covx and your father have no experiences with them—I do. Plus, there are other things I wish to educate you on._ ” “ _It shall be done, master._ ” Vyrys assures, continuing on as though Hyx isn’t conversing with him. “ _How did Reevix’s parents treat you when you met them?_ ” “ _They were polite but it's obvious they don’t approve._ ” Xzsul frowns to himself, sighing. “ _Are they outsiders?_ ” “ _I think her father is from Yzol-V. Her mother too._ ” Yzol-V is widely considered an entertainment and cultural hub. It’s the only Crown World where Circle Dwellings are not allowed—as is sorcery—it’s also the only Crown World where droids are legal. “ _Yzol-V_ .” Hyx scowls barely above a whisper. “ _Be wary of those Yzol-V dwellers, Xzsul. They look down on us, even though their citizens didn’t build this empire. Their citizens don’t contribute to our military or to our relationship with Qyâsik_ .” “ _I could sense their unease with my presence. I’m sure Jylik and them have already had extensive conversations about our union._ ” He and his mother had similar conversations, especially when she discovered Jylik Reevix and her family had moved from Yzol-V to Dyriliok when Reevix was eight. There’s a mutual coldness between both of their respective family units, but it’s to be expected. There’s deep-rooted respect between the Dyriliok Citizens and Circle Dwellers that doesn’t exist with Yzol-V. Most Dyriliok Citizens have family who is—or are descendants of— Circle Dwellers so the planet practically runs on Ancient Law. “ _She must understand that she is not on Yzol-V. Your blood runs all the way back to the days of Korriban, hers does not. Reevix lives on Dyriliok, she must change for you. If she dislikes living in a Circle—following Ancient Law— she must adapt or leave you and the children. Those are her only two options. Do not curse your children to live as Citizens. I understand you love her, but do not subject yourself to live as something you’re not just for her sensibilities_ .” It’s the best advice Hyx can give his apprentice. These matters are complicated—Hyx knows this all too well—but one must choose their Circle above all else. “ _So I should just tell her that if she doesn’t want to live in the Gadow Circle with me, I’ll raise the children for her and she can leave?_ ” Hyx doesn’t waste any time with his response. “ _Yes, she knew what she was getting into when she became your mate. If she does not want you, there are countless other women who will._ ” The mere idea of them splitting up is like a sword in Vyrys’ chest. He loves her with his entire being, but Hyx is correct—as was Covx. He can only assume his father would tell him the same. Jylik will likely give him the same ultimatum of leaving the Circle or she’ll leave him. “ _Has she met your father yet?_ ” “ _I don’t trust her with that yet—especially not with her being so friendly to Republic senators._ ” Vyrys longs to trust her, to tell her everything of himself—to experience the same level of blunt honesty his parents have with one another—but Jylik doesn’t have the same ingrained distrust and hatred towards the Republic that he—and other Circle Dwellers—have. She views all cults as the same, not as a blood-tied war that will be written by the winners. The Jedi have won for numerous millenniums and the dial is in their favor. She will either not understand the gravity of the cult ties, or she would let it slip to another. “ _Vyrys, you mated with her without telling her you an occultist like your father. What were you thinking?_ ” Hyx chastises him harshly. “ _I wasn’t…I—I had almost died—and I—_ “ “ _Quit stammering, boy. You thought with your dick, and now you’re having to pay the price_ . _You’re lucky I’m even allowing you to have a mate this early in your training._ ” Hyx cuts him off, coldly. This is Vyrys’ mess and it’s not his job to fix it. Vyrys’ obligation as his Sith Apprentice comes before all else—children, a family, his circle, everything. “ _Yes, master, I understand. Everything will be worked out_ .” “ _It better be_ .” Hyx sighs, changing the conversation’s subject. “ _To continue with Yzol-V, my master was from that planet._ ” Hyx informs and Vyrys’ interest is peaked. He says nothing but glances at the other, quietly signaling his intrigue. Vyrys says nothing, focusing on his assigned task, still listening. “ _My master was an Tagiak, have you ever seen one before, Vyrys?_ ” Hyx asks intently, staring at his apprentice with a quirked brow. “ _Yes, master, I have. They’re native to the Jen’ari Imperium and Red Order Cult regions. The Jen’ari Imperium believes that they are the descendants of ancient Chiss, Sith, and Zabrak that morphed into their own species. Their eyes are pitch red—sometimes obsidian—their teeth are sharp—their hair is black or absent—they have crown-like, sharp horns on their head and their forearms—their skin tones range. Right?_ ” Vyrys has never personally met a Tagiak, but he knows they’re one of the species that the Blood Tribune allegedly colonized. Like most colonized species, they started as slaves on Crown Worlds but were eventually given full-rights and a few planets of their own. In the current age, they’re no different than Sith in the eyes of the King. There are countless Tagiak in the Handship and numerous, large enclaves of them live on Dyriliok. Most worship the same gods as Circle Dwellers do so there’s a kinship in that. “ _Tagiak live for 250 years, Vyrys. Would you like to know how I met my master?_ ” “ _If you wish to tell me, I will listen_ .” Vyrys knows little of how the Banite Order took root in the Blood Tribune, but with the abundance of Cults, it makes sense that Bane’s method of teaching would spread to someone who would find resonance in it. The life of an Occultist is futile in the Blood Tribune, they might amongst each other—with other darkside cults. Lightside Cults tend to stick to themselves or feud with local enemies so there is no all-encompassing, long-standing rivalry like the Republic’s Jedi and Sith Order have due to atomization. However, the knowledge that one can gain from a cult is much higher than anywhere else. There are few restrictions to cultists and a singular master and apprentice can learn much more than a hierarchical group. With the right teacher—and natural talent—one’s opportunities are all but limitless. “ _I was born into the Ragnos Circle, but my family was in great debt to an entertainment corp on Yzol-V so I was sold to slave in one of their fallacies. As soon as my claws grew in, I was taken from them._ ” Sith Children commonly lack talons until the age of three. They do not cut their nails, instead opting to file them down. When cut, fingernails can sometimes take years to grow back to size if cut down to the fingers. “ _From then until the age of 13, I toiled endlessly. Building droids, cleaning the wiring systems of the behemoth HoloReality systems that litter that vile hellhole, dragging the bodies of dead slaves into incinerators, things along those lines really. Vyrys, it was a miserable existence that you are blessed to have never experienced._ ” “ _Did they implant you with any cybernetics?_ ” Vyrys frowns. In the Blood Tribune, slavery is legal—a trade-off for the lack of droids—because of this, cybernetic implants to control and modify those enslaved are a normality. There are planets filled with slaves whose faculties have dulled and fried to the point where they could be considered nothing more than flesh-and-blood droids. It’s a grim reality of the Blood Tribune that Vyrys wishes to never experience firsthand. “ _No, no_ .” Hyx shakes his head, running his hand through his black, straight hair. “ _I was so deep underneath the mainframe of that corporation’s lowest level that the sun was over ten-thousand floors up—I didn’t even know the sun existed until my apprenticeship. The mainframes are linear and claustrophobic. There’s no escape because there’s nowhere to go. You don’t even have a place to sleep—to eat. There are so many slaves on that planet, it’s more affordable to let you struggle and die than maintain your existence. You’re under constant surveillance, all day. Why waste Argents on cybernetics when escape is impossible and your death is sometimes a few hours away?_ ” The growing image of Yzol-V that spins in Vyrys’ mind makes him sick to his stomach. It reminds him of the Jen’ari Imperium to a degree. “ _It sounds like Yzol-V just serves as a satellite planet for entertainment media and everyone there feeds the machine until they eventually die_ .” Xzsul’s brow is furrowed as he begins to compare-and-contrast the Reevix family’s accounts of the planet with his master’s own experiences. Yzol-V is a beast, a metallic trap that seems to rival the Decaying Father in ghastliness. A planet like Yzol-V could never—would never—exist in the Republic. “ _Very observant, my apprentice. Your assumptions are correct, everyone lives in some form of hell on Yzol-V—except those who run it and have a higher rank within its hierarchies. You’re at the mercy of your superiors—no matter how slight that deviation may be. Regardless, it is a well-oiled machine and every piece of advertisement and mass-media piece that you see in the Blood Tribune springs fourth from it._ ” Hyx pauses once more, and Vyrys resumes his work—if not half-heartedly. Time is of the essence. Those in the Circles do not tend to consume the media of the Blood Tribune. They have their own culture that is confined to Circle-to-Circle. For instance, the Gadow Complex has art unique to itself. Circle Dwellers pride themselves on their self-sustainability and rarely ever buy mass-produced items—granted, they have their own currency but the things you find to buy are never the same or consistent due to everything being handmade. “ _My master was an executive of the entertainment corporation that owned me. The higher-ups of these companies are twisted individuals, Vyrys. Not Ancient Law or Blood Tribune Law can touch them and they’re brazen in their degeneracy. They make the worst Sith Order member look like a Jedi Master in comparison. The things they do— the things I’ve seen them do—are unspeakably vile_ .” Vyrys is tempted to inquire on what exactly these corporate owners do, but his better judgment wins against his gnawing curiosity so he stays silent. “ _I was chosen to take place in some sort of gladiatorial match. I was one of the lucky ones looking back. That’s an extremely tame and safe fate compared to what commonly happens to others. It was a bloody and torturous event but I survived it. My master saw my potential and took me as his apprentice. From the ages of 13 to 60, I was his protégée. At 25—with the permission of my master—I joined the Exalted Hands._ ” The story has a concise and quick conclusion—very vague and unsatisfying— but countless questions are swimming in Vyrys’ mind. “ _How did you meet Covx?_ ” Vyrys asks, finishing up the right shelf just as their work period ends. Hyx laughs quietly, crossing his head. It was an expected question. “ _Covx and I were classmates. You should ask him, he has more of an opinion on it than I do. Now, let’s get out of here._ ” “ _How does my bib’i know you?_ ” That’s the question that stops Hyx in his tracks. Vyrys senses the change in Hyx’s mood—it’s concealed and the emotion behind it is unreadable but it’s there. “ _Do you want to know now or when we get back to the apartment?_ ” “ _Tell me now._ ” Vyrys states, staring into the back of the other’s head. “ _I’ll tell you once we’re out of here. The Jedi won’t take kindly to our loitering_.” 

As soon as they’ve reached the outside of the Jedi Temple, Vyrys stops, ready to hear what Hyx’s explanation is. “ _Vyrys, do not react until you hear all of the story. If you attempt anything on me, I’ll strike you down._ ” That’s how Vyrys knows this story will be something he shouldn't hear—isn’t ready to hear. “ _My bob’i will kill you If you kill me. He knows about you_ .” Vyrys frowns, it’s not a threat but a reality and he means no malice by it. It’s simply something that must be stated. Hyx waves him off, unworried. “ _I’m ten years older than your mother, and twelve years older than your father. When I was 25, I returned back to Dyriliok. My master knew I was a Circle Dweller and allowed me to be re-inducted into my Circle. I didn’t have a name until I came into my master’s apprenticeship. I simply had a number. This—combined with my entire family having to sell themselves into slavery—meant that my name was meaningless. There’s no Hyx family in the Ragnos._ ” Vyrys knows little of the families that live within the Ragnos so he takes Hyx’s word. “ _A few months into my stay I met a young man named Irixk Jagix. He was a decade my younger. A very bright-eyed young sorcerer. My master had taught me as well as he could, given the limitations of sorcery knowledge on Yzol-V. I wanted to know more of Qyâsik, and the Circle Sorcerers had a much more intimate knowledge so he and I decided to trade knowledge—in a pseudo-apprenticeship of sorts. At this time, Irixk Jagix had a girlfriend named Yvi Gadow._ ” “ _My A’bo_ .” Vyrys frowns, beginning to pick at his right cheek ridge in growing anxiety. He has a terrible feeling about where this story is going. “ _Jagix and I spent three years teaching each other sorcery. When they were almost 19, the two were planning on going to Naboo because Yvi had a once-in-the-lifetime opportunity to study at one of the universities—_ “ “ _Theed University._ ” Vyrys states in a whisper, interrupting the elder with a frown. He knows where this is going. Hyx smirks as he watches Vyrys piece this story together in realtime. “ _Yes, there. One night, close to around the time when the two were supposed to leave. Jagix and I were doing this more experimental ritual—something more volatile._ ” Hyx’s smirk only grows more devilish and elated. “ _My master was very much a believer in blood-for-blood. For one to succeed, sacrifices must be made_ .” “ _You killed him._ ” Vyrys isn’t sure why this information hurts him—why he feels betrayed—it must be the idea of the pain his mother went through. “ _For me to show my master loyalty—to prove that the Handship wouldn’t cut into my obligations, I had to. We were trying a more acid-based alchemy. With a switch of the hand and a chant, the acid was on him. The poor boy. He died a gnarly and slow death. It was wonderful, Vyrys. His screams were delici—_ “ “ _Stay away from me_ .” Its in that moment when some kind of veil is lifted from Vyrys’ eyes and he’d rather be alone—deal with navigating life on his own, with no guidance. “ _You come by me again, I’ll report you to the Jedi. We’ll both go down. I don’t care._ ” Vyrys’ voice is flat—lifeless—to his eyes, the world has lost nearly all color. “ _Stay away from my bob’i, my babies, and my mate. I want nothing to do with you. You’re no Sith Lord, you’re a psychopath. Covx was right about you_ . _Neither you nor your master are true descendants of Bane’s ideology_.” Vyrys doesn’t care about anything that Exalic Hyx has to say, his vision is only clear because of the cybernetic eyes. It’s like everything is collapsing. Hyx doesn't say a word or stop him. His smirk stays as Vyrys turns heel and hastily trots down the stairs that lead away from the Jedi Temple. 

He has no intention of returning home immediately. He does—however—send a brief message to Covx to explain the situation. A heartfelt apology of not trusting the man’s opinion. There’s a weight—an infected tumor—in his heart. The betrayal is more palatable than anything he’s ever experienced. There’s a small diner in the CoCo Town so he stops inside—maybe eating will clear his mind. “Welcome to Dex’s Diner. I’m FLO. What can I get for ya’?” An effeminate WA-7 service unit droid greets as he takes a seat at the booth. Typically, droids would unnerve him but he’s already drowning in panic and the world around him is fuzzy. “I’ll take the special. With some water.” He feebly nods, his gaze shifting from his hands to out the winder before he rubs his head, exhaling shakily. To go from caring for someone—trusting them fully and confiding in them—to having them smirk as they knowingly and gleefully crush your spirit is hard to manage. It’s a feeling Vyrys would wish on no one. After a few moments, FLO brings a glass of water to his table. “Thank you, FLO.” Vyrys weakly smilies, taking a small sip from it. “Anytime, hon, call me if you’d like anything else.” Droids are much more cordial than Vyrys thought they were. It’s just strange not being able to sense their life-force, but droids typically don’t mask their emotions so it makes up for it. His hands tremble uncontrollably and his breath is shallow and broken. He’s having a breakdown. Surely his father knows of this—he must. Palpatine had no outward contention to his apprenticeship—but there’s the possibility that he doesn't know. He’s halfway through the glass of water when FLO brings him his food. In another time—under different circumstances—he wouldn’t eat meat but it doesn’t trigger the visions anymore and there’s too much on his mind for him to protest. Nourishment is nourishment. He pauses from his eating when two Jedi walk in. He recognizes one of them as Anakin Skywalker but the other he doesn’t know. Vyrys and Skywalker meet eyes for a moment and the two Jedi stops. “Vyrys Xzsul, right?” Skywalker inquires confidently. “I’am him, y’eh.” It’s a weak confirmation but Vyrys is in no mental state for conversation. “I thought so. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Have you two met before?” “I’am not sure I have.” Vyrys timidly smiles, shaking Kenobi’s hand. “I’m sure I’ve seen you around the Temple before Vyrys.” Kenobi comments. “You likely have, I have been assigned to data collect in your Temple’s library. I actually just finished my shift.” He isn’t looking for anything other than Smalltalk and even that is a challenge. “You seem sick. Did anything happen while you and that other Hand were working?” Anakin’s question makes sense. He is extremely protective and loyal to his Order. Vyrys knows he can’t disclose the exact source for his troubles but he has many other issues to answer with. “Well, yesterday I learned my mate and I are having twins so that’s been a lot to deal with.” That should be a sufficient answer. Vyrys smile is small. Even in the current chaos of the day, the realization that he’ll have three children is daunting but exciting. “Really?” Kenobi blinks. “Congratulations. I can’t imagine the stress that would cause, as a Jedi I can’t have children of my own.” “Thank you, Jedi Master Kenobi. It is a scary and exciting prospect. I already have a three-year-old. Soon, I’ll have three children.” “Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your wife. I wish you the best of luck with your family. May the force be with you, Vyrys.” “Qyâsik walks beside you, Jedi.” Vyrys waves them off, returning to his meal. He finishes his meal in silence and when he pays, he leaves. When he exits the diner, his communicator rings. It’s Jylik. “ _Hey._ ” Vyrys greets, accepting the call. Matik is on her hip as she speaks to him. “ _Vy, love, where are you?_ ” “ _I was eating. I’am returning home._ ” Vyrys assures flatly, mind elsewhere. “ _Great, I’ll see you when get home. I love you, Vy._ ” _“I love you too_.” 

Currently, it’s just he, Matik, and Jylik at their Senate Apartment Complex residence. They lay cuddled together on the sofa, watching the HoloScreen while Matik plays with his toys on the floor. “ _How was your day?_ ” Vyrys asks breaking the serene quiet, his attention more focused on the news than anything else. “ _It was good. Nothing too interesting, a lot of interviewing. I heard that Exalic is heading into Separatist space in a few days—_ “ “ _Stay away from him_ .” Vyrys interjects, ice-cold in his demeanor. He’s all but snarling. Jylik frowns, moving her position to sit next to him. This is uncharacteristic of Vyrys, he’s never been one to brood. “ _Vyrys, what happened? You two are close. He’s your teacher. You stayed with him while we were here_ .” She strokes his hands softly, her voice is gentle. The two know much about each other and there’s a trust in that. Jylik is aware of his differences and accepting of them—just as he is of her’s. If something troubled him enough to demand she stay away from a close friend and a mentor, she’d like to be clued in. “ _Jylik, you know that I’am a sorcerer, y’ eh?_ ” “ _I do. I know that Exalic is teaching you._ ” She nods, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “ _Hyx had a part in the death of a lover of my a’bo—the one before my bob’i._ ” He kisses her head, breath trembling. Jylik doesn’t give him any reaction, waiting to hear more. “ _I… I’am conflicted_ .” He admits, reclining back slightly. “ _If he had not done it, my parents would not have met and I would not be here. But he caused my a’bo pain—terrible, unimaginable anguish—and even if that pain led to my family existing… I just…_ ” He trails off then stops himself, body deflating. “ _You should speak to your father or mother about this. If they have no hard feelings towards him, and you don’t, then you should just continue on_ .” It’s the best advice she can give. In her mind, it is was a sad but necessary event. One that brought him into existence, but she’s lived on Dyriliok for enough years to understand that family and Circle matters are of the utmost importance. Vyrys hums, acknowledging and accepting her advice. “ _About when we return home…_ ” This will be the difficult conversation, the one he’s not ready to have but knows must be done. His future lies in the balance of this discussion so he must choose his words wisely. “ _Jylik, I… I’am a Circle Dweller. I’am not—have not— been prepared to live as a Citizen. I was raised to hold my Circle above everything else. It is the only life I know and the only life I can give to the children. I understand if you do not want to live in the Circles with me, but I cannot leave. I know it will be a difficult adjustment but I will do anything and everything to make it an easy one for you. I accept if you do not want to be with me because of this._ ” “ _Vyrys, I have no intention of not living in the Circles with you_ .” She states it so matter-of-fact that he’s taken back. “ _Re—Really?_ ” “ _Yes, I knew what I was getting into on our first date. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t want to live in your Circle._ ” Her words lift the weight off his chest and a sincere smile makes its way across his lips. “ _I’am honored, Jy, truly. I know that it is different but I will do everything I can to help you_ .” “ _VyVy, when I was on Yzol-V my entire family lived in one room in a corporation-owned, apartment complex. I can live comfortably in your complex._ ” “ _Y’eh, y’eh but your parents hate me_ .” He kisses her temple, moving closer to her side. “ _Let them hate you. I don’t care_ .” She stands to her feet, Matik jabbers happily at the two of them. The boy giggles joyously as she picks him up. “ _You should speak with your family. I’m bringing Mat to the park_ .” “ _Jylik, if I can get ahold of him. Would you like to meet my bob’i?_ ” Vyrys rises to his feet, stepping to her side and kissing Matik on the top of the head. “ _I would love to. Do you look like him?_ ” “ _Y’eh, y’eh, my a’bo say outside of my hair texture and some Sith features, I’m a split image of him_ .” He smirks with a sense of pride. Jylik trys her best to construct a visual image of the elder Xzsul. “ _I’ll go with you two to the park. We can talk more once we get there_.” Vyrys smilies, taking Matik out of her arms and into his. 

“ _Go play with the kids, Matik. A’bo and bob’i will be right here if you need us_ .” Vyrys instructs with a whisper, lowering Matik to the ground. They aren’t the only people at the park. Vyrys can’t identify all the species present but he can spot some Rodian, Duros, Zabrak, and Human families. Matik scurries off and the two sit on a bench that faces in the direction playground so they’ll be able to watch him. “ _It’s good for him to be with kids his age_ .” Vyrys muses gaze fixed on the boy. Matik is currently playing with a few other children. “ _What planet is your dad from?_ ” “ _Naboo_ .” Xzsul answers instinctually, not paying much attention to the question. Vyrys has never been to Naboo, but he might make a trip over there if time allows for it. “ _Oh, Senator Amidala and Chancellor Palpatine are from there_ . _Have you ever been?_ ” “ _No, no, but my a’bo and eldest siblings lived there until Kvev was ten. After my big brother, Sheev was born, the four of them moved to Dyriliok._ ” At this time, Matik has befriended a Zabrak boy and a Rodian girl and the three are chasing each other around the playground. “ _Is that a common name on Naboo because the Chancellor’s first name is Sheev—I believe._ ” Jylik wishes she was more in tune with Qyâsik so she could sense what Vyrys—and others—were thinking. When she arrived on Coruscant and heard about how they discover if you’re force-sensitive, she immediately took the blood test—much to Covx and Izyiza’s dismay—she found out from it that she had a midi-chlorian count of 9,000 per cell. Jylik is unsure of how it stands in comparison to someone like Vyrys, but it’s considered a higher amount in the Republic. “ _I’am not sure. He’s named after my bob’i._ ” Vyrys is all but telling her the truth point-blank at this point. If Jylik was connected to Qyâsik, Vyrys is sure she would feel the truth—sense it—but for now, he’s resigned to playing the context game. A futile game of hints and hope that the other will piece it all together. “ _Vyrys, just tell me who it is. Are you scared? Do you not actually know?_ ” “ _If I tell you, you can’t tell the Jedi—anyone. If I tell you, you’ll have to carry the same burden I have my whole life. Can you do that?_ ” Jylik sighs in response, stroking her right jaw tendril. She can’t stand when Vyrys gets overdramatic like this. The man can wax poetic about nearly anything, and had he been born on Yzol-V, he’d of been turned into an actor. “ _Vy, just tell me. Come on. Stop being so dramatic. Either tell me or don’t_ .” She huffs, crossing her arms. “ _My bob’i is the Dark Lord—the leader—of the Republic’s only darkside cult_ .” He dares not say the name aloud, he’s far too overcautious for that. Her eyes widen, “ _For real?_ ” She whispers. She’s not scared nor does she find it repulsive, if anything, it ironically makes the most sense. Vyrys’ mother is a scholar whose main field of study is lightside cults. “ _You can’t tell anyone, can’t react when the Jedi mention him, nothing like that. If they find out, they’ll kill me—and him. Jylik, place all this in the back of your mind—forget about it even. I’am trusting you with my safety—and my family’s safety. They know we are mates so if anything happens, you’ll be implicated too_ .” “ _I won’t tell anyone, Vy. I don’t even know the name of the cult leader they’re looking for—outside of that Count Dooku human, but I doubt he is a cultist. He seems like a political revolutionary. I respect his ambition._ ” Vyrys has never met Darth Tyranus but he’s aware vaguely of him through overheard conversations his parents had. His father shared very little of his doings with them, only his ideals and moral codes. It is none of the children’s concern anyway. Sidious never promoted his path to them—but he also wasn’t one to discourage their interest in such topics. It was a neural upbringing in that regard. He still instilled some of the values of the Sith Order into his children. But raising a child and training an apprentice are two totally different ballparks. Anger, hatred, and rage are wonderful and sought-after traits in a student of the darkside. They’re negative and draining traits in one’s toddler or child. It’s healthy and natural for a Sith Apprentice to hate their master but it’s painful and sorrowful for a child to hate their parents—Sidious knows this better than most. Because of this, Sidious has done his best to negate the possibilities that his children will view him as he viewed his own father. So far, it has worked well. Sidious has not been around enough to raise all his children into adulthood, but there is mutual respect for them all. He can’t control the will of his brood—he gave up that privilege through his lack of involvement in their individual lives—but he can be a firm and guiding hand when necessary, or requested. “ _Vy, you should get your midi-chlorians counted. They do that here. Why don’t they do it on Dyriliok?_ ” Jylik shifts the conversation. Matik and the Rodian girl are throwing the playground’s shredded astroturf at each other. It’s obviously playful and friendly in its intention so neither parents have the need to interfere. “ _You can’t gauge someone’s connection to Qyâsik. I already have a good bond with it. I don’t see the need to share my blood with a computer to tell me what is evident already._ ” Vyrys shrugs as Matik and two of his friends run over to them. “ _Bob’i, these my friends!_ ” Matik announces proudly, gesturing to the two children before climbing into his arms. “ _I’am happy for you, Mat. ‘Dats great_ .” By this time, both of the children’s parents have come over to introduce themselves. Vyrys gives a soft-spoken greeting and introduces himself but he lets Jylik do the talking. She is far more social than he is—especially today. “ _I need t’ file your nails, Matik_ .” Vyrys comments idly, holding Matik’s hand and looking at it. “ _Why ‘day so sharp, Bob’i?_ ” Matik squeaks, smirking. “ _I don’t know, Mat. When I lil’, bib’i would file my nails too. When you get big, you’ll be able to do it yourself._ ” There’s a nail file in the rucksack he brought to the park so Vyrys starts to dull them. He doesn’t want to considerably lower them, just make them less sharp. The two agreed to tell Matik about the twins they’re expecting tomorrow. The boy is already well aware that he’ll be a big brother but the idea of having two siblings at the time might overwhelm him. So they’ve opted to tell him on a day where they can spend quality time together as a family—and answer any questions that he has. Matik is a quiet and withdrawn child but he’s still smart. Sometimes he’s talkative but other times, the boy prefers to babble nonsense. “ _Finished, bob’i?_ ” Matik questions, growing restless. “ _Y’eh, y’eh. In a minute_ ” Vyrys finishes Matik’s left hand and begins dulling his right hand’s claws. It only takes a minute or so, but Matik is fidgeting in anticipation to go play again. “ _You can go_ .” Vyrys sighs and Matik slides off his lap. “ _Bob’i gotta leave but you and A’bo can stay as long as you like. Give me a hug and kiss goodbye_ .” “ _Oh, bye._ ” Matik does so before running back to the playground with the other children. “ _Bye, Jy. If you need anything, let me know_ . _I love you._ ” “ _I’ll make sure to do so. I love you too, babe._ ” 


	5. LiMerge

Vyrys strides into the Sector 943’s LiMerge Building like he owns it. In a way, he kind of does. He can’t sense his father, but eventually Sidious will show up and then they can speak. There’s already a starship in the Hanger Bay so someone is here. He can’t identify it’s owner but his father typically travels here via landspeeder—well, he did so eight years ago. The second he hears the rushed footsteps behind him, he force jumps backwards. The lightsaber nicks his back but his spine is intact. Exalic Hyx’s training has saved his life. His attacker is older human man— he recognizes him though. “Tyranus!” He hisses in a voice that could easily be mistaken as Sidious’ own. He quickly pulls the hood of his cloak over his eyes, his footing is still defensive—ready to flee, if need be. Tyranus stares as deactivating his lightsaber but still weary of the young man. “How do you know me?” “Your master—Darth Sidious—requests my presence. I’am a sorcerer from the Blood Tribune.” It’s a lie but Vyrys speaks it with full conviction. “What is your name, boy?” “Bane Gadow. Your master knows me.” Vyrys assures, holding up his hands to show he’s weaponless. He uses an alias, the last thing he would want is this being traced to he or his family. “What is your business with Lord Sidious, Bane Gadow?” Dooku questions, stepping up to Vyrys. He has to think of something quick—something believable. “I’am here to deliver him a book on Sith Sorcery. He is expecting me. I’am sure.” “I shall notify him. Follow me.” Dooku orders, leading him to a small chamber. Vyrys lowers the hood of his cloak as he sits, huffing. Two super battle droids enter the chamber with them and, suddenly, Vyrys begins to grow antsy. “I sense fear in you, boy.” Dooku comments, down at Xzsul. “Droids are not legal on my planet so I’am nervous around them. My apologies, Lord Tyranus.” Vyrys tries to pretend the super battle droids do not have their blasters aimed on him. That they’re not waiting for one misstep or wrong breath to light him up into a corpse. “Is that so?” “Yes, my lord.” A long silence commences afterwards. Dooku is trying to decipher Xzsul’s intentions, more likely he’s waiting for a chance to kill Xzsul. “What species are you? Zabrak?” Dooku finally speaks, and Vyrys blinks first confused, then sighs as he realizes that no one in the Republic even thinks about the Red Sith. They truly are a dead people here. “I’am Red Sith and Human. Surely, you have heard of us?” “I thought the Red Sith died out.” Dooku quirks his brow, using the force to pull an adjacent seat into his hand then sitting down. The same, played-out conversation has commenced like clockwork. Vyrys will be happy once he’s back in a region where every single encounter doesn’t require a lengthy diatribe about Blood Tribune history and what exactly the Red Sith have been doing. “We have not. We just have our own government so why return here. You humans can handle yourself.” Vyrys shrugs, glaring at one of the battle droids. “Does your empire plan on attacking the Republic?” “No, no, we’re just here to observe your war.” Xzsul reassures, rubbing his temple. “Your story isn’t adding up.” Dooku states, standing to his feet. “I would let the battle droids kill you, but I’ll let my master sort you out. Your death will be much worse if you’re lying, hybrid.” With that, the older human leaves but the battle droids stay. Dooku reminds Vyrys of the Jen’ari Imperium humans, just not as severe in their Humanocentrism. It’s midnight and Vyrys has had an draining day, it doesn’t take long before he drifts into a half-sleep. He isn’t resting long before the door opens and he jerks awake. It’s Tyranus. “Stand, boy.” Xzsul hastily obeys the order, following Tyranus through the LiMerge. He’s lead into the personal chamber where Sidious is. “This is the one you’re expecting, my master?” The lack of an instant answer to Dooku’s question from Sidious makes Xzsul’s nerves scream in fear. Sidious just stares, hand on his chin, as he drawls out the silence. Every second that there’s no answer is agonizing. Every moment just adds to Dooku’s suspicion of him. Finally, Sidious speaks. “I do. This is Bane Gadow. Had I known you were coming, Bane, I would have prepared more.” “My apologies, Lord Sidious.” Vyrys bows his head respectfully, clasping his hands together. “My schedule is quite short notice as the moment.” “I’m sure it is, Bane.” Sidious nods in agreement, before dismissing Dooku. “Lord Tyranus, leave us.” Sidious orders and Tyranus does so with no questioning. As soon as they’re alone, the formalities are dropped. “Next time you choose to visit, VyVy, please inform me. You’re lucky Dooku didn’t you kill you on sight.” “He tried to but I dodged it.” Vyrys frowns and that’s when a wave of force electricity hits him. The pain is excruciating and brings Xzsul to his knees in a matter of seconds. “Use your head, Bane. You can’t just walk in here without warning.” Sidious hisses, continuing the barrage, Vyrys hissing in pain. After five minutes, it ceases, and he’s left trembling, teeth grit in pain. “Can you stand, son?” Sidious asks, voice even and his hand outstretched for Vyrys to grab. “Y’e—Y’eh, bob’i.” Vyrys stutters, taking Sidious’ hand and pulling himself back up to his feet. “You’re trembling, VyVy, sit. I’ll get you some water then we can talk.” Vyrys takes a seat, burying his face in his hands. Force Electricity is agonizing and you feel it’s effects for hours—sometimes days, if powerful enough—afterwards. “Here. Compose yourself.” Sidious places the water on the desk beside Xzsul and waits. With a shaky hand, Vyrys takes the glass and downs the water. “I hate having to do that to you, son, but you must learn you can’t just rush into dangerous situations. Did Dooku hit you?” “His lightsaber nicked my back but I’m fine.” The pain in Vyrys’ back is beginning to set in as the adrenaline fades. Sidious takes the seat in front of him, waiting for Vyrys to tell him why he’s here. There must be good reason for the young man to do something so brash. “There’s a lot. Do you have time?” Vyrys frowns, shifting in the seat. “I have as much time as you require. Go ahead.” Sidious gestures for him to go on. “Bob’i, do you know Exalic Hyx?” “I’ve never met him but I know he killed your mother’s first lover. Why?” This means that Sidious doesn’t know. “Well, he is my Sith Master and today I learned that he did that. I had no idea, bob’i. I made an obligation and… and now I’m conflicted. If he hadn’t killed that man, I wouldn’t be here… but he hurt her and…” Vyrys has to stop himself from trailing off. “Do you hate him?” Sidious questions, arms crossing. “I do kind of, but I’am more conflicted than hateful.” Vyrys frowns and Sidious purses his lips. Vyrys has always been an even-tempered person. He has always been naturally aggressive but even as child it was hard to sway him into rage—granted, Sidious did not try to encourage negative emotions. These traits have already been bolstered by Vyrys’ training under Covx. “He is your master regardless of how you feel about him. He has the power of life and death over you, Vyrys. One day, you will hold that power over another. It is the way of the Sith Order. You must devote yourself to the idea of domination.” Sidious tells him the same thing he has told Maul. “Hatred and anger are useful and healthy emotions if used for one’s benefit. You know that. Exalic Hyx is your master, not your friend. He will keep things from you in order to add longevity to his own life. Once he has no use to you, you’ll kill him.” Sidious speaks from experience. “I will, I will. I just do not want to associate with someone that you and a’bo don’t like.” Vyrys shrugs, eyes scanning around the chamber. “I —personally— have no issues with the man, Vy. Had he not murdered Yvi’s first lover, she and I would have not gotten together so he is no enemy of mine. In a sense, you and your siblings only exist because of his actions, if I’m being generous. If my approval is what you long for, you have it. You should do what’s required to get back into his good graces.” “Thank you, bob’i.” Vyrys warmly smilies, a weight having been lifted from his chest. Theres still more to speak about so he decides to move the conversation to a lighter direction. “Bob’i, in five months, I’ll be having twins.” Vyrys smirks proudly, judging Sidious’ reaction. “Really?” Sidious blinks before a grin creeps across his face. “That’s wonderful, Vyrys. I’m proud of you.” The compliment gives him a sense pride. “Do you have any names in mind?” “Y’eh, y’eh. We’re having a boy and a girl. So the boy will be Raine and the girl will be Desna.” Ancestral names. In Sith Culture, it is common for first born children to be named after such. Kvevrik—for instance—was named after his great, great, great grandfather on his mother’s side. While his eldest daughter, Luka, was named after a descendant of Sheev’s. “Are you staying in the Gadow Circle?” Sidious isn’t fully knowledgable on all the ins-and-outs of Dyriliok Red Sith life due to his distance from it, but he's aware that Jylik isn’t from a Circle. He's not quite sure where she’s from, the two have never formally met although he has seen her in the Senate Building. “Y’eh, y’eh. She told me she wanted to live with me once we get back home.” “How is your eldest boy taking this? I know that children tend to get envious of younger siblings. Xarla was when you were born at least.” Xarla is five years his elder. She has always been there for Vyrys. “I think he will like them. I’m still going to be watchful and very attentive of him, Matik has been through a lot for a child of his age.” The boy was been non-verbal until the age of two, but with time and patience, he has been improving. Matik just requires more care than most children his age. “Are you worried his biological family will try to take him?” Sidious frowns, sensing the younger’s discomfort. “No, no. I’am not sure who his parents are. The doctors believed he was a son of one of the cult’s priests. I can’t imagine the neglect and pain he went through in that wretched place, father, it was worse than anything I’ve seen. Many of the cultists are not dead but if any of them try to take him, I’ll slaughter them.” Vyrys’ voice quivers with anger, a nerve has been struck. “I’m sure you will, Vyrys. It is early in the morning, you should return to your home. We can talk more in the future. For now, reconcile things with your master, and focus on your family. May the Darkside empower you, Vyrys. I love you.” “Thank you for your advice, bob’i. I love you too. May the darkside give you strength.” 

The sun is just peeking through the skyline when Vyrys returns to the complex. Exalic Hyx sits at the kitchen table, reading a tome and taking a sip of his dream. “ _ Master _ .” Vyrys greets softly, eyes averted downwards as he pours himself from water. His body is now feeling the brunt of the lightsaber wound and the Force Electricity. “ _ My apprentice _ .” Hyx doesn’t give him a cold greeting. “ _ Sit _ .” Vyrys obeys, keeping his eyes low as he sits. There’s a period of quiet as Hyx flips through his spellbook. “ _ Master, may I speak? _ ” Vyrys finally asks, his voice a near whisper as he nervously taps the table with his talons. Hyx glances up, brow furrowed but Vyrys senses no anger on his master. “ _ You may. _ ” Vyrys knows he must choose his words wisely. After he gathers his words, he speaks up again. “ _ Master, I would like to apologize for my disrespect. My behavior was uncalled for— _ “ “ _ Your behavior was expected. You were obedient. You didn’t lash out or speak with disrespect. I was testing your emotional control and processing. You’re the child of a Sith Lord, I’m sure he taught you how to direct your emotions. If he hasn’t, then Covx certainly has _ .” Hyx closes the book and sets it down beside his left hand. Vyrys hasn’t been given any indicators that it's his turn to speak so he stays quiet, eyes fixed on Hyx. “ _ You’re far too controlled, Xzsul. It is understandable, you had a peaceful childhood—well, outside of witnessing death but that’s normal. There’s only so much a parental inclination towards violence can lend. Had you tried to attack me, I wouldn’t have killed you. I was hoping you would attack me. Covx doesn’t let you fall out of line too much, does he? _ ” “ _ No, master, he doesn’t. Covx prides himself on pacifism and emotional control, I have seen him kill before though _ .” Vyrys sighs, taking a sip of his water. “ _ One day, you will face an event that causes that wall to break. You’re still a young man, not even quarter aged yet, there is plenty of time to chip away at those bricks. When that day does come, embrace everything you feel, relish in it, let it strengthen you—break you and rebuild you in the darkside’s image. Power is only gained through pure and unfiltered passion. Some learn this early, others later, but regardless it is always learned. _ ” Hyx lectures deadpanned. He—like most Red Sith—had closed his mind to the ability to perceive Qyâsik’s premonitions at a young age, but one does not have to see the future to understand the nature of Qyâsik and its will. It was that will that introduced Hyx to Jagix. It was that will that made Sheev Palpatine and Yvi Gadow meet just as the former started his own apprenticeship. It was that will that intertwined Hyx and Xzsul’s fate. That will that choose Xzsul to follow in the footsteps of his own father. It is a commonly-regarded fact that Qyâsik sends the proper apprentice to a master. Qyâsik has no light and dark—it has no chaos or order—it simply is. One can only obtain its power if they embrace it themselves. The wind is not evil or good, its power is evident but it is amoral. A hurricane destroys and ravishes a planet’s surface, but the hurricane is not morally responsible. It is simply powerful. Power is power, but power is only gaugeable in comparison to the destruction it can cause. A hurricane that destroys nothing is weak, a Sith that adds nothing to the chaos of the galaxy is weak. Destruction is everlasting, and the only true signifier of one’s existence—both in life and Qyâsik. It was Qyâsik’s will that Vyrys Xzsul become his apprentice, and Hyx must make sure Xzsul embraces power as purely as he can handle. The will of Qyâsik is always fulfilled, no matter what chaos or order it causes in the end. “ _ Is that why Covx doesn’t have a mate? He’s scared of those emotions? _ ” Vyrys asks, his intentions pure and curious. Hyx shrugs, not completely sure himself. “ _ I’m not sure, Covx’s business is his own. I have no mate because slaves on Yzol-V are sterilized unless their connection to Qyâsik is considerably dull. They do those blood tests there—as they do in the Republic. I think they get their technology from the Republic. Or at least they both stumbled across the same conclusion at the same time without the other realizing it. _ ” That surprises Vyrys. The general population of Dyriliok has a deep-seated disdain for the Republic and Jedi Order. But then again, Dyriliok and Yzol-V are like night-and-day. “ _ That is enough lecturing. You have to go to the Jedi Temple in an hour for your shift _ .” Hyx informs standing to his feet as Vyrys joins him. “ _ I cannot join you in your shift today. Clean yourself up, treat that wound, and head over. I didn’t finish the left shelf from yesterday that is where you will focus your efforts. You are dismissed, my apprentice. Once you’re finished with your work period, return back here immediately and we will discuss things more in-depth. _ ” 

Vyrys spends the first hour of his shift in silence. He’s made decent enough progress but it’s apparent that Hyx did no real work—likely opting to leave it all to Vyrys. Hyx is a sorcerer, not an office worker. “Where’s your friend?” “What?” He looks over to see the source of the voice. It’s a human man, his hair dark and his face scarred and bearded. He looks like a soldier—not a Jedi. “Who are you?” Vyrys questions, brow quirked. “Rahm Kota.” His voice is rough. “I’am Vyrys Xzsul. My colleague is elsewhere. I’am working but we can speak if you’d like.” Vyrys returns to his work. He feels that it’s impolite to not strike up a conversation with a Jedi in their own Temple so he asks, “Are you fighting in the war?” Vyrys knows he is—he must be because he wears the garbs of a general—but it is a good conversation starter. “I am. You know anything about it?” “No, Jedi Lord Kota, I do not. It is not my place to know so I have no knowledge of it.” He answers honestly, shrugging slightly as he logs three more datapads into the HoloPad. “You Sith seem like you all follow orders pretty well.” “In our old tongue, failure and disobedience were the same words: treason. Our language has changed—y’eh— but the spirit has not left us. I’am a servant of the Blood King so I must act accordingly.” Kota does not have the same energy as the other Jedi Vyrys has met. The man carries himself with the discipline of an accomplished general but there’s a familiarity to him like the two have shared life experiences of some sort. Whoever Kota is, Vyrys can decipher that he has not had the same upbringing as the others. The man has had to fight for survival. He reminds Vyrys of the older members of the Circle Complexes. “If you do not mind me asking: did you grow up in the Jedi Order? I apologize for any disrespect, my lord, but you’re different than the other Jedi here. I can sense such.” “My.” Kota blinks, a bit surprised by the comment. “You’re quite perceptive, Xzsul. You’re correct in your feelings, I didn’t grow up in the Jedi Order. I didn’t join the order until eighteen. I grew up on Caratos.” “I grew up on Dyriliok.” Vyrys informs casually, glancing over at the man for a second before returning his focus. “What’s Dyriliok like?” Kota asks and Vyrys sighs for a moment. “Very stressful. It is nice—safer than most—but one must be still careful. It is universal knowledge in the Blood Tribune that no matter where you go, death is always with you.” Vyrys can feel that on some level this resonates with Kota—as if the man relates to it—and Vyrys feels his wall against Jedi slipping a tad. “I know that feeling, Vyrys.” Kota nods in agreement, arms crossing. “Caratos was a war-torn planet, I was fighting in the trenches by the time I was ten. You see a lot of shit.” “I understand. I saw my first murder when I was three, I’am sure I’d seen others before but that was the first one I remember. When I was nine, I saw a boy stab another one to death in the Complex Green Zones.” Vyrys states matter-of-fact, shaking his head and trying to not fall into the memory. Green Zones are court yard-like areas in between the walkways that connect The Ragnos to all its adjacent Complexes. They’re relatively sparse and serve as a place for Circle Dwellers to spend time in nature and commune with each other. It’s the place where most children and youth in the Circles spend most of their time. “Gods, that’s terrible. I’m sorry. What happened?” Kota frowns. “Do not apologize, it’s normal. We were playing Circle and the boy brought a real knife instead of the practice ones we all had. In the end, both boys died.” Eventually, all the death melts together in your mind and you accept it, or you let it weigh you down. It is the way of the Blood Tribune, things were far worse in the Ancient Era. The worst day on a modern planet like Dyriliok is the best day Ancient Korriban. “I wish you safety in this war, I have no side but my people give great cultural significance to it. Conflict gives one their teeth—turns one into a mature adult.” Vyrys has never set foot on a battlefield but he hopes he never has to. War is bloody and taxing, he can’t imagine why the Jedi—arbiters of supposed peace and tranquillity—would agree to fight in a conflict this volatile and grand. It confuses him even more that they bring their padawans with them—why they would put them through the horrors of war. War is horrible—no Red Sith will deny it—but that horror is accepted and embraced as the natural order of life. “You ever been on a battlefield?” “No, no, I’am an Exalted Hand. They don’t take place in the Blood Tribune’s military pursuits. I have been apart of a cult takedown though. Both are equally terrible.” Talking about it isn’t as triggering as it was. The visions were the worst part, and with them being erased, all he has to maintain is being there. “Do you know the force?” It’s the next question Kota asks, and the one that Vyrys feels he should have expected from the beginning. “I’am a sorcerer. In a way, we are similar. We both rely on Qyâsik. I have no lightsaber training, but since the age of three, I’ve been trained to use daggers. Granted, I do not have any weapons with me.” It’s a half-truth but Vyrys would be a fool longing for death to look this Jedi Lord—this Jedi General from a war-torn planet—in the eye and admit to being a cultist. Vyrys is trying to see his twin's birth. This Jedi could kill him here and likely get away with it. When faced with an opponent you cannot defeat, you must make yourself small—unnoticeable—then stab them in the back when their defenses are down. At least, that’s what his teachers and Sidious taught him. The dead have nothing to prove so putting on a show of strength isn’t something one should do unless they feel it is safe. If your enemy has the high ground, you coax them to your level, you never jump to attack them. Even if you believe yourself to be more powerful, you should be mindful of your surroundings and limitations. You should do whatever is necessary to make the favors of a conflict go into your favor. The losers die and the winners live to see another day. “Do you call upon the darkside?” Kota’s brow is raised, he’s more curious than cautious. Vyrys has no weapons and he has a lightsaber. Vyrys seems experienced enough to not attempt to kill a Jedi in their own Temple. “I call upon whatever—or whoever— will help me live to see tomorrow.” It’s not a direct answer but Vyrys isn’t going to admit to anything. Kota is understanding for a Jedi but that understanding likely doesn’t extend to rival cults. “Makes sense.” Kota shrugs, not having any objections to Vyrys’ reasoning. “I’ve fought a Sith before, you and your peers aren’t very similar to them.” Kota comments offhandedly, Vyrys pauses from his work for a moment. “In what ways are we different? I’ve never met one of them. My species references to ourselves as Tsis. Sith means superior or perfect in our language. It’s just easier to use the name given to us than the name we gave ourselves.” “You’re just more put together, I don’t sense the overbearing hatred and anger.” He nods, leaning against the bookshelf to Vyrys’ right. “Those are natural feelings to have but you’d be miserable and tormented if you felt them every day. We’re a government, not a cult. We have families, friends, jobs, culture, everything the Republic has. If anger and hate made someone like us, everyone would be Sith because those feelings are just life.” It still irks him how they view the Sith negatively. There are negatives, but there are positives to Sith life as well. Vyrys continues, feeling he has done his species a disservice. “Maybe I made it sound like we live in a hellish world of bloodshed, but we don’t. We’re not as restrictive in certain ways—we were a warrior species on Korriban. But for every negative, there are ten positives. Death isn’t inherently a bad thing, it’s nothing someone should want to happen early, but it—like war— is normal. We all go to Qyâsik in the end, anyway. I cannot speak for the rest of the kingdom, but I grew up as a Circle Dweller and I wouldn’t wish for any other life. It’s sad to die in combat, but it’s better than dying of a disease. Our kingdom is functional.” “You go where?” Kota asks, audibly confused. “We go to Qyâsik?” Vyrys asks back, unsure of what Kota is confused about. “What does that mean?” “Qyâsik is the Force. When we die, our spirits are kept alive by it.” He and Kota both share mutual confusion at this point in their conversation. Vyrys wonders if Jedi don’t realize that when someone passes, they’re not actually dead. “That's not possible—there’s no proof of it. Midi-Chlorians are what causes what we call the Force. We’ve proved that.” “Midi-chlorians aren’t a thing to us, one or two planets use them but you can’t gauge your connection to Qyâsik via blood cells.” He sounds like Covx now, this is something the elder Hand would tell him—something he has told him many times before. Kota stays quiet, trying to find out what to say next, this conversation has gone deeper than general questions and war stories. “Do your people believe in the Chosen One?” “We already have balance, if Qyâsik feels one side is too strong, it’ll cull that side. There is no darkside or lightside to us, just order and chaos. Too much of either is toxic.” Vyrys and Kota continue to have an inane conversation until Xzsul’s shift concludes. “It was nice speaking to you, Jedi Lord Kota.” Vyrys warmly smiles with a nod. “But I must go, my mate and I are expecting twins soon so that’s my top priority.” “Good luck with your children, Vyrys.” “Thank you, Kota. May Qyâsik walk with you.” There is little time to waste, especially with Hyx waiting. 

Hyx has a small backpack on the couch when Xzsul returns. No one else is there but them. It’s afternoon so Jylik and Matik are likely at the park. “ _ Good, you’re here. Follow me. _ ” Hyx strides past Xzsul, pulling the backpack into his hand. Vyrys doesn’t question the orders, he just turns heel and exits with him. He stays quiet as they board Exalic Hyx’s vessel. Unlike the Vyrys’ Chwayat-Itsu, Hyx’s Koshûjontû-Hâsk is much more spacious. The vessel has a small medbay, a couple of small empty storage rooms, a workroom, and a meditation chamber. The pilot room is much more closed off, however. It’s not until the starship is in orbit that Vyrys finally speaks. He had planned on setting up the room where they’ll be caring for the twins until their eyes open but that plan is obviously not happening. “ _ Master, may I ask a question? _ ” Hyx doesn’t need to hear the question for it to be answered. “ _ We going to Ziost. I’m sure the planet needs no introduction. It is a dead world—an ancient gateway to our old empire. We are going to practice alchemy and do some rituals. I put a basic alchemy manuscript in my bag, read it while we travel. _ ” “ _ Yes, master, it shall be done. _ ” Vyrys nods, grabbing the book and beginning to carefully read through its contents. Hyx gives no response, too wrapped up in flying the vessel. After a few hours of reading, Hyx finally speaks up. “ _ There’s a Qabbrat in the back. _ ” There’s no order but Vyrys understands what Hyx is implying. He’s drained from a long morning and an even longer night. Vyrys has no idea what they’ll be doing, but he knows enough of alchemy to understand how draining it can be. 

Mediation is a soothing process, to Vyrys at least. Ever since he showed signs of force sensitivity, regular and lengthy mediation has been a staple of his life. He has no set time for himself, it will be over when it’s over. Typically, one’s father teaches them how to properly mediate but since his formative years were spent essentially fatherless, he learned from his grandfather instead. For one to properly mediate, they must follow Qyâsik’s current. It will speak to you—guide you even—if you’re open to it. Vyrys—like most Red Sith— had his abilities of premonitions dulled at a young age. Premonitions can be valuable in the short term but if not properly honed and guided, it can become a living nightmare—like trying to predict the streams of trillions of rivers. Most families do not have the time, nor resources, to teach their children how to wield premonitions correctly so it is dulled instead, Vyrys and his siblings are no different. Those who are trained to detect the future, are trained from near birth under extremely watchful eyes. Typically, they’re blinded and maimed so that they cannot act on any of the visions they witness. Not many parents would want to subject their offspring to such a fate so figuring out the future is left to the Blood King and Decaying Father. Apparently, the Jedi do not follow these same practices, and some even attempt to view the future—another taboo that the Jedi cross with reckless abandon. The Jedi Cult confuses him to no end. 

Once rested and rejuvenated, Vyrys returns to Hyx. He says nothing as he returns to his co-pilot seat and continues to read the manuscript he was tasked with. It seems Ziost is quite a length away. He reads in silence until his master speaks. ” _ Do you have any experience with alchemy, Xzsul? _ ” “ _ It's very surface level. When I was young, I used to try to create sithspawns out of insects and small creatures I found in the Green Zone _ .” These attempts were never fruitful and Vyrys would end up just releasing them back into the wild with little to no changes made. But for a young sorcerer with no true experience, it was an exciting idea. All the great Sith Sorcerers could shift and mold creatures to their will. “ _ You need much more than Qyâsik alone to create sithspawn but your youthful interest in such is endearing. _ ” “ _ My grandfather was not fond of certain fields of alchemy or sorcery. As you know, the Gadows are healers but my father has always been more drawn to the more esoteric areas of the arts. _ ” It must run in the family, his mother is neutral but supportive towards it. She does always buy his father any sort of Holocron or artifact she feels will pique his interest, numerous times even going through the process of translating them from Modern Sith to Basic herself. “ _ It’s a shame that the Republic Jedi are so tame and reserved in regards to the arts. You notice how empty everything feels, my apprentice—how dead everything is here? _ ” Hyx laments, scanning around and flying through a stray asteroid that moved into their path. Vyrys can’t disagree. Almost three-fourths of Blood Tribune life is seeing the aftermath of sorcery and alchemy experiments gone wrong—or right. Dyriliok only has the number of creatures it does because, for thousands and thousands of years, sorcerers have been using alchemy relentlessly and freely. There are behemoth and levitation-like creatures that dwell in the very bottom floors of the stone ecumenopolis—some of which so powerful that bothering them would destroy half of the planet’s surface. To the neighboring civilizations, it is a commonly regarded belief that the Red Sith concocts a new and unseen species every week due to rampant and unchecked Sith Magic. “ _ I’ve noticed it too. It’s very uncanny to not see some strange, unknown creature roaming the city. I miss it _ .” Vyrys sighs, slipping the manuscript back into the backpack carefully. “ _ Coruscant is a loathsome planet. All there are is droids, Jedi, and metal. Three of the worst possible things I can think of _ .” “ _ It's depressing not being in a Circle. I know I’m missing festivals and events. I love the Festival of The Blood Sky. I think it’s happening next week _ .” At this moment, Hyx and Xzsul aren’t master and apprentice, they’re two foreigners complaining about the dullness of Coruscant life and the culture shock of moving to the Republic. Hyx nods along, huffing. “ _ What do they even do in this wretched part of the galaxy? _ ” “ _ Hunt Sith and create flesh droids. Master, have you seen those abominations? _ ” The Clone Troopers. They’re some of the worst inventions the Republic has ever made—nearly as bad as the droids. There’s no honor in the death of a clone, no ritual, no worth. It’s jarring and disgusting. “ _ I have, I have. The Jedi believe themselves better than us but are more than happy to use a slave army of near-identical flesh droids that they discard and let children lead. It’s shameful _ .” Both men feel strongly towards this issue. “ _ Our ancestors were driven out, their spiritual successors deemed as evil and corrupt but the Jedi turn around and let teenagers fight as leaders and die on the battlefield with their drone army. I prefer the droids over those things _ .” “ _ I have heard of their apprentices leading entire squadrons. It is obvious the Jedi miss the presence of our people—and their rival— and view this as some kind of game. There are accomplished generals in their ranks, if they do not have enough resources to fight properly, they should have surrendered _ .” There’s disgust in Hyx’s voice, disgust that Vyrys wholeheartedly agrees with. “ _ What will do once the war is over? They have a cult with a taste for blood and given far more power than should ever be allowed. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Republic had to fight the Jedi for dominance. They cannot be trusted. _ ” “ _ That they can’t, my apprentice. There is a good reason the King doesn’t let their kind in our space. They do not respect anything but their own ideals. Their belief that they’re the balance will be their undoing. _ ” 


	6. DAWN

Ziost is cold and dead. It’s the perfect place for one to practice rituals and perform alchemy unbothered. It was their planet, as was Korriban. The planet's surface is covered in ash and ruins. A symbol of the Sith’s once-flourishing Republic Empire—now lost to time and decay. Hyx passes Vyrys a small dagger. “ _ Tithe your blood. _ ” He orders, watching the surroundings. “ _ Yes, master _ .” Vyrys nods, taking a knee and stabbing the palm of his left hand until it pours blood. When the blood pools, he flips his hand over to let the blood fall on the earth below. “ _ Typhojem! We come here respectfully as descendants of our great people! Take my blood as a sign of our loyalty to you! _ ” Vyrys yells into the distance, his tone even. Even if there are no creatures out there, old spirits still walk, and not appeasing them can lead one to be cursed. Neither speak—nor move—until the blood is soaked into the ground. A sign that any possible deities or spirits have accepted their presence. “ _ It’s dark. We will sleep in the starship tonight then set off early in the morning. _ ” Hyx informs, returning back to the vessel, Vyrys standing to follow close behind him. When inside, he goes to the medbay to wrap his hand. Hyx busy is in his workroom and once Xzsul has treated his wound, he goes to sit in with him. The Elder Sith is enwrapped in his alchemy so Xzsul observes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s doing. “ _ Vyrys, I require an altar for tomorrow’s rituals. Go build one. _ ” He takes the lightsaber from his cloak and tosses it to Vyrys. It seems there will be no rest tonight. “ _ Construct one that’s six feet in length, forearm length in width, and waist height. _ ” The next thing Vyrys is tossed is a dagger. He latches it and the lightsaber to his belt. “ _ I need it inscribed and blood-drenched. It can be your own blood or another’s you find—it's no matter to me _ .  _ Take the manuscripts from my rucksack. _ ” Hyx pauses, not diverting any attention from his work. In this silence, Xzsul takes the opportunity to pick up the rucksack. “ _ Use the dagger to chisel the inscriptions into the stones. You will find everything starting on page 31. I expect it to be ready and in working-order by dawn _ .  _ I do not need to tell you what failure will lead to. _ _ Now, go _ ” “ _ It shall be done, my master _ .” 

Vyrys has no idea where he’s going to find the stones and wood required to construct this thing. He’s unsure what time it is on Ziost but he doesn’t have the luxury to figure it out. Hyx tolerates much but failure is not something he treats kindly. The first thing he decides to is to compile the needed resources. With a sigh, he sets off to find a ruin—the planet is covered in rocks and trees after all. It only takes half a mile of walking before he stumbles across the ruins of a small townhouse. It must be thousands of years old, who knows what lies inside—however that isn’t important at the moment. It’s surprising to Vyrys how well Sith architecture stands up, even in this modern age, most of their buildings have stood the test of time, but that is neither-here-nor-there. The large bricks are quite heavy and rub against his hand-wound and the strain of carrying them causes the lightsaber slice on his back to enflame. The experience is pure, unadulterated discomfort but he perseveres. After over an hour of going back-and-forth, Xzsul has gathered enough to construct a basic altar. His work has just begun and his body is already screaming for rest. The left-hand wound bleeds out sporadically and his person is covered in a light layer of dirt. Vyrys rubs his right cheek ridge, thinking of his next move. If he messes up the inscription, he’ll have to carry over a new brick—but if he’s too careful he’ll run out of time. With an undisclosed amount of time remaining—and with the proverbial walls closing in—Vyrys grabs the manuscript and flips to page 31. The inscription is simple: GODS, FEED ON THIS BLOOD AND _ EMPOWER OUR EFFORTS _ . Not a terribly long phrase-in Old Dyriliok Sith. Xzsul takes a knee in front of one of the bricks, places the manuscript to his left, grabs the dagger and a hand-sized rock, and begins to chisel away. It takes three hours to complete it. His hands are raw with blisters and a bloody mess. Even the slightest movement of his hands sends sharp and agonizing pain up his arms. His entire body quivers as he stands. Ziost is naturally cool and aired but he’s drenched in sweat. It’s now time to build the altar—and building it is excruciating beyond measure. Bloody handprints litter each of the bricks, and a few times he collapses in exhaustion—hitting his right eye the first time and his chin another. The only thing keeping him moving is the Darkside, it’s all he has. The Red Sith are connected to it from birth—intertwined to each other by biological symbiosis and culture. One does not have to put effort into calling upon it, by birth you are already its servant you just must submit to it as your true master. Xzsul has already considered himself connected to the Darkside, but here, cold, bloody, exhausted, and alone building this altar to ancient gods, he worships at its feet. He will rely on it or perish. He will break himself and mold to its bidding, or he will die by his master’s hand. If it views him as strong—worthy—he will survive. Xzsul hasn’t the strength in him to admire the altar, he must find a victim—someone to sacrifice. He doesn’t have enough blood of his own to fully drench the slab. Xzsul gives himself a minute to stare at the night’s sky. The stars he stands under have seen the rise and fall of empires. They were there when the Jedi Exiles occupied the Sith people and interbred with them—permanently morphing their genetic code and culture— and they were there when the last Red Sith in the Republic died. They’re as abundant as grains of sand on a beach. Xzsul’s eyes squint as he sees what he at first believes is a shooting star, but soon realizes it to be an escape pod. It crashes a mile from where the Koshûjontû-Hâsk is. He’s consumed by drained elation—a sensation far deeper than relief—and immediately rushes to the site of the crash. It doesn’t matter if Master Yoda himself is in that vessel, death will meet them tonight. Xzsul hides behind a stone formation and with a few movements of his fingers, his eyes switch into night vision. It’s times like these where he thanks the gods that he lost his natural eyes to begin with. He can get a better picture of whoever is in there. He must bring them to the altar alive for the blood to mean anything or it will have been all for naught. Not even five minutes have passed when the escape pod’s sole occupant reveals themselves. It’s a single Republic Clone Trooper, it seems uninjured. Before the Clone can call to whatever star destroyer it belongs to, Xzsul steps out from the stone wall and grabs the clone with the Force, lifting it off the ground. With his left hand, Xzsul holds his place, and with his right, he uses the Force to fracture each limb of the soldier. The Clone’s screams resonate through the night but no one calls back. They’re alone. Xzsul’s entire body burns with a dull agony but he pushes himself forward—the job is far from over. As soon as the clone is incapacitated, he walks to him, removes the helmet the man wears, and grabs his collar. The trudge back to the Koshûjontû-Hâsk’s Altar is arduous and filled with curses and pained threats of Republic retribution from the clone— it quickly turns from name-calling to pleas. Vyrys gives no response and doesn’t stop his trek, the Republic loses thousands of clones a day for worthless reasons. This clone will have a more dignified death than any peers in its squadron. Dawn is nearing when Xzsul brings the clone to the alter and using the Force to place him chest up on the stone slab. Xzsul removes the clone trooper’s chest armor. There’s no time for a speech. No time for an explanation, or lecture on the Ancient Sith and their historical affinity towards sentient sacrifices. With Qyâsik, Xzsul pulls the stray dagger into his hands. He holds it pointing downward with his left hand and rests his right on the bottom of the hilt. The blade is pointed at the top of the clone’s collarbone. Xzsul had no idea that clone troopers could feel such horror—had such a level of self-awareness to realize his fate. The Darkside—or maybe just adrenaline—blocks out the world. He’s sure the soldier is begging and pleading for his life but the sounds around him are muted and dreamlike. For a second, Xzsul calls upon the Darkside once more, a silent request for just enough physical strength to finish his master’s bidding. There’s no more time to think, Xzsul lunges the blade into the clone’s collarbone and cuts down. He cuts deep until he reaches the stomach. He’s positive Hyx hears the wailing—the bloodcurdling shrieks—everything. As soon as he finishes, he retrieves the heart from the human before flipping the body over. He puts the heart by the head of the deceased clone trooper. Xzsul’s body gives out as he collapses to his knees, his body painfully spasming from overexertion. There should be tears, regret, anything other than emptiness—anything other than the bitter truth that this is the nature of the universe. You are even the sacrificer or the sacrificed, and Xzsul will whatever is demanded of him to prevent himself from being on that altar. He spends minutes staring into nothing—brain moving too fast, and at the same time not at all. In his heart, he expects The Son to show up— to make some offhanded comment about losing yourself or congratulating him on his newly embraced bloodlust—but the planet’s surface is dead and quiet. Xzsul hears clapping from behind him but he doesn’t look over. He physically can’t. Hyx steps up to him then places his hand on Xzsul's shoulder. Xzsul can sense the pride that radiates from Hyx—practically taste it even. “ _ You have proven yourself worthy, Xzsul _ .” Hyx smirks wickedly, like a proud father watching their offspring succeed in a Rite of Passage. Xzsul realizes at that moment that he’s never truly experienced the pride of a father firsthand, he’s sure Sidious is proud of him. If he wasn’t before, he certainly will be now. “ _ How do you feel, my apprentice? _ ” Hyx questions, reaching over Xzsul to grab the human’s heart. Xzsul answers with the first thing that pops into his head. “ _ Free. _ ” In the corner of his eye, he can see Hyx take a bite of the heart. “ _ Good, Xzsul, the darkside shall set us free, yes? _ ” Hyx passes him the heart and with the very last ounce of his strength, he takes a bite of it himself. “ _ Yes, master. _ ” 

Like any good Sith Master, Hyx treats his apprentice’s wounds and prepares him food. He must be honest, he didn’t think Vyrys Xzsul was capable of such a feat. The young man is still out all-but cold but it is no matter, Xzsul has earned the right to rest. Hyx takes Vyrys’ hand and drains any blisters he sees. Once that’s done, he dips a bandage in some healing ointment and wraps them. He repeats this process with his other hand. He then sits Xzsul’s up, his body is limp but that doesn’t stop Hyx from treating the back wound then wrapping his torso. Now that everything has been tended to, he carefully lays Xzsul on his stomach—not wanting to irritate the lightsaber slice. Two years ago, Xzsul could not have brought himself to do what he did today. Oh, if Covx was here the things he would do—the things he would say. Qyâsik has many sides—many faces—but the main four in Blood Tribune are light, dark, order, and chaos. One can be a follower of light and chaos, dark and order, just light, just dark, there are numerous combinations. There are various side paths one can choose from. It’s a fool’s ideology to boil Qyâsik down to one particular alignment. As if the Elder Hand knew he was on Hyx’s mind, Covx is calling. Exalic Hyx strides in the cockpit to accept the message, smirking proudly. It’s Covx who speaks first. “ _ Don’t lie to me, Exalic Hyx. I know you’re with Vyrys. Why are you on Ziost? _ ” Oh, he’s angry—furious, more than Hyx has witnessed in years. “ _ Why are you mad, Covx? _ ” Hyx smirks, shrugging, and Covx stammers, dumbstruck at the question. “ _ Why am I mad?—What? Are you stupid Exalic? No, you’re not. Answer my question. _ ” “ _ Xzsul is my apprentice. I’m doing what is to be expected. _ ” Exalic is intentionally vague, knowing it will set Covx off more than being straightforward ever could. “ _ You’re corrupting him, Exalic. The boy already has enough darkness in his heart from his fath— _ “ “ _ Covx, I’m not corrupting him. Just because the Jedi Order didn’t choose you, doesn’t mean you have to turn the young man into your Padawan _ .  _ You’re not one of them. They don’t like us and they won’t think you’re the one good Sith because you grovel at their feet like a servant. Carry yourself like a Lord. _ ” He has no qualms bringing up Covx’s past. “ _ That Jedi Order saved my life. It was a cult that killed my family, it was a Republic Jedi who raised me. _ ” Covx snarls, canines peaking through his lips. “ _ Vyrys loves you, Covx. You’re like a father, he’d never cross you. But you’ve never told him you’re friendly with the Jedi. I know that because I would’ve heard it from him already. He’s shared so much with you, Covx, bled his heart out to you, and you’ve never told him that you’re allied with the people who will kill his father with no second thought? It’s been almost eight years and not even that is lent to him. _ ” Exalic sucks his teeth, lips pursed and arms crossing. “ _ Are you going to tell him? _ ” Covx questions tone still outwardly hostile. “ _ No, no. He’s known you far longer than I’ve known him. I’m not your keeper, you deal with your own problems. If you care so much for the Jedi, take their Chosen One under your wing _ .” Exalic scoffs then smirks slyly, “ _ Oh, but you won’t because if you tell the Jedi anything that they really need to know, you’d rip Vyrys’ life apart. You’d have to look him in the eyes and watch the destruction firsthand. And even if you did tell them everything Vyrys has ever shared, they still wouldn’t want you because you’re an orphan from an Old World who was raised by an exiled Jedi. They have no love for you because Jedi don’t feel love _ .  _ The Jedi are not your Circle _ .” “ _ Balance will be restored, Exalic. And once it happens here, it will spread to the Blood Tribune _ .” Covx counters passionately. Exalic snarls, rolling his eyes. “ _ One year with these humans and you’ve bought their propaganda? Pathetic. If you want to be human so bad, turncoat, and betray the King. Live out the last 50 years of your life here. I sense disloyalty in you, Covx. Does your heart lie with them or us? Get off my line. We will return when we return. The King assigned me to teach Xzsul. Never forget that I am his master and it is my job to guide him. Especially since you’re mind is clouded by Jedi worship. _ ” Hyx doesn’t give Covx the satisfaction of a response. Not that the Elder Hand deserves such a luxury. Exalic hisses, shaking his head in frustration and running his hand over his straight, dark hair. The audacity of Covx to act as the Jedi Order’s cheerleader. He walks back to Xzsul’s side, the younger man is stirring. Xzsul’s consciousness is returning and soon, he’s sitting up. In his eyes burn a newfound fire, his expression pained and his jaw clinched—he looks like death itself. “ _ Master _ .” Xzsul greets, his voice a dry hiss. Every movement makes Xzsul wince in pain but something has left him—no, something has entered his spirit. “ _ My mouth tastes of blood _ .” Another hiss, Xzsul’s tongue is dry and coated in blood, the salvia in his mouth isn’t doing much good. “ _ There’s water _ .” Hyx informs, gesturing to a glass bottle that lies beside him. Xzsul downs the water like a man who hasn’t drunk in years. “ _ Thank you. _ ” He sighs, the water has helped clear his throat. Xzsul stares at Hyx, awaiting his master’s words. Surely, they will discuss what happened—he can’t imagine they not. “ _ How do you feel, Xzsul? _ ” Hyx asks again, handing Xzsul another bottle of water. He downs it all the same and answers. “ _ Like apart me has died. I mean that in the best way. _ ” It’s an indescribable sensation. “ _ Could you elaborate? _ ” Hyx wants to hear what Xzsul’s true feelings are. “ _ Don’t refine your words. I want to hear earnest emotions. _ ” “ _ Having to build the altar was one of the most strenuous tasks I have ever experienced. I have always felt a connection to the Darkside, but during the ritual, I had to allow myself to be broken so that it could mold me into its tool. I had to fully embrace the Darkside as my master _ .” Xzsul’s answer shows promise. Hyx nods along, composing his words. There is plenty of time to teach but now is the time for discussion. “ _ You have proven yourself as a worthy candidate, Xzsul. Your path is just beginning. It may rename you, but it will certainly remake you—as it does all. Today is the start of your true tutelage—your real apprenticeship. In a sense, a part of you has died. You will die many deaths as Qyâsik molds you into the tool it soughts after. The Darkside will gut and replace everything it finds useless within you, in the end, there will only be strength and passion. Now, rest, tomorrow your lesson begins. _ ”

Their day starts at dawn. Xzsul’s body is sore and rigid but he persists—even keeping himself upright and awake is a struggle. Master and apprentice stand in front of the altar. The air is cold and the wind whips around them. The clone trooper’s body hasn’t been moved and the blood has dried—the altar will stand long after they leave. Neither have the intention of dismantling it. On the altar, there lies a few tomes and some other artifacts. “ _ Long before the humans, before the Blood Tribune, our people practiced alchemy. We still today—yes—but for our people on Korriban, this was science. Our way of molding the universe to our will. It is not an art learned overnight, one must devote their lives to mastery but that’s why Qyâsik gave our people an extended lifespan _ .” Hyx jests at the end but Xzsul gives no strong reactions—as he should, Hyx is here to teach, not make petty conversation. Xzsul says nothing, observing his master intently. “ _ You’re no child. You have a beginner level of alchemy and grasp of some of its elements but you are by no means a master. You will watch my example. I will not do this again, you understand that, Xzsul? _ ” “ _ Yes, my master. _ ” Xzsul nods attention still fully on Hyx. “ _ Good. Today we will raise the dead _ .” Hyx informs, gesturing down to the corpse before picking up a particularly derelict tome and flipping through it. Xzsul eyes are stuck on Hyx, he won’t get to see this performed again so he must soak up all the knowledge he can. After five minutes of reading, Hyx hands Xzsul the book. With hands outstretched over the body, he chants lowly. After some minutes, Hyx unleashes a barrage of energy from his fingers. The corpse twitches and spasms, it convulses like an eel out of water. It thrashes violently about until it falls off the slab—only then does Hyx cease. Xzsul glances at his master, unsure of what to expect next. Minutes pass of nothing, just the ambiance of Ziost and the wind whipping in their ears. Then the corpse begins screaming, it’s a heinous and eardrum piercing wail that quakes Xzsul to his core. The ritual has worked. “ _ You broke its body sufficiently so it won’t be able to move but its spirit has returned. _ ” Hyx and Xzsul approach the newly christened undead, crouching over it. Its body is colorless—as are its eyes— it’s drenched its blood. It reeks of death to the point where both have to fight from vomiting. “ _ Let it scream its vocal chords out. _ ” Hyx instructs, not daring to touch the wretched thing. When the tenth minute has passed, the screams have turned from loud and boisterous to an airy hiss. “ _ In my eyes, it is best to not wake the dead, or add to their numbers needlessly. We’re sorcerers—not serial killers—but this is a necessary exercise. In the old days, we would break the limbs of the dead—or cremate them—for this exact reason. As you know, we don’t do that now but I hope you can understand why it was a needed measure. Blood is easy to come from in the Tribune, there are many fine alternatives to the substance. One does not have to resort to killing, however, you will be in scenarios where murder is the only viable option and you must be ready to take such measures _ .” Hyx lectures, standing to his feet and using the Force to snap the zombified clone’s neck. “ _ You are not ready to attempt such a ritual, it is best to start small, resurrecting full-grown sentients can drain one’s energy and it can be hard to control them. I—personally—have no interest in raising the dead from their slumber but maybe in time you will. This was a demonstration of power that Qyâsik bestows to those that can control it. _ ” Hyx breaks with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “ _ In the ancient era, it was the tradition for an apprentice sorcerer to construct an altar dedicated to Typhojem, sacrifice a member of a rival circle, and consume the heart with their teacher as a Rite of Passage. We may use lightsabers and take certain elements from Bane’s Order but we are as our ancestors were. Their legacy and ideals live through us. _ ” It is only now that Xzsul speaks. “ _ Will I be required to kill you? _ ” The frown is hard to conceal. “ _ Kill me? Why would we kill each other? _ ” Hyx inquires. “ _ Well, you killed your master and— _ “ “ _ I only killed my master because he asked me to. Do you want to kill me, Xzsul? Speak freely. _ ” There are no accusations in Hyx’s tone, no underlying edge or distrust. All Hyx wants is the honest truth. “ _ I… _ ” Xzsul stammers for a moment, no longer hiding his frown. “ _ No, I don’t. I understand that is the way of the Sith but— _ “ Hyx interrupts him again, tone firm but respectful. “ _ Vyrys, if every single time a sorcerer’s apprentice surpassed them the Elder one was killed, the Circle would collapse. If every single time a scholar became smarter than the other, the weaker was killed, then the institution would fail. _ ” This is a teaching moment and Hyx pounces on the opportunity to guide Xzsul. “ _ Your father is a wise man, likely the best sorcerer in the Republic, but he is not of our ilk. He is not right about everything. His cult has different ideals than ours. In his cult, it is fine and acceptable to kill your master—a rite of passage—but in ours, it is not. Our ancestors did not slaughter the elder sorcerers in their ranks, so why would we? _ ” A weight has been lifted from Xzsul’s chest, he wouldn’t continue to associate with Hyx if it would just lead to Hyx dying by his hands. “ _ Do you know why the Sith of this region rely on emotions so much, Xzsul? _ ” Hyx asks evenly, not rushing the young man to answer. “ _ I’m not sure, master _ .” Xzsul admits, shivering in the cold. Hyx is quite well-dressed for the occasion, while Xzsul stuck wearing the garments he brought with him. It keeps him aware and awake though so there is some good in that. “ _ Because it’s all they have. They do not have rites, rituals, and ceremonies to connect them with the Darkside—with Qyâsik—as we do. We can afford to be emotionally controlled, balanced in our hearts, because our relationship to the Darkside is not dictated by fragile concepts like one’s emotional state. Qyâsik only awards passion so much, a sorcerer with pure passion and no knowledge is useless. Our people could not—no, would not—have survived until this point if we lived in constant mental strife. If anything, it is love that makes us serve the Darkside, not hate. It is love for one’s Circle that leads one to want strength. A strong sorcerer and warrior will protect their Circle, a weak one will lead it to death. _ ” “ _ That makes sense, master. _ ” Xzsul agrees, internalizing Hyx’s lesson. The day is still young and the sun shines fiercely. “ _ Master, may I speak? _ ” “ _ Of course, Xzsul, Go ahead. _ ” Hyx nods. “ _ Thank you for taking me under your wing and offering me guidance. I’am truly blessed that Qyâsik brought me into your mentorship _ .” “ _ Qyâsik guides us all like a leaf in a river, Xzsul. It was fate that brought us together. _ ” Hyx genuinely smiles, placing a hand on Xzsul’s shoulder. The apprentice has always had a bleeding heart. A fine trait for Circle life. 

The remainder of the day is spent lecturing. Xzsul is not ready to do any true alchemy yet, but that doesn’t negate the importance of intellectual knowledge of it. Many have perished due to being ill-equip on the nuances of Sith alchemy. Hyx has retrieved the helmet of the clone trooper as a token of Xzsul’s induction ritual. As the two men eat, Hyx inspects it. “ _ The inside say Virgil. 501st _ .” Hyx hands it to Xzsul, who takes a turn inspecting its design and inside. “ _ 501st? That’s the Chosen One’s army. _ ” Xzsul comments, placing it at his side. It’s not too interesting. The armor is so sterile and lacks any true Identification, Xzsul doesn’t bother granting individuality to any of them—not that the Republic cares for its warriors. “ _ They won’t find him, master. He couldn’t even radio back to his battleship. _ ” Xzsul assures, mind going elsewhere. “ _ So many of them die a day, I doubt they’ll care. _ ” “ _ They have no Circle or family. Nothing of importance was lost. You just destroyed a droid, Xzsul. _ ” Hyx comments, sensing the other’s shift in mood. “ _ Your thoughts are to the Chosen One. _ ” He points out, brow quirked. Xzsul blinks then sighing, leans back in his seat. “ _ My apologies, master, it’s just that it’s obvious who my father prefers. I’am not like him—I’am not worth his time like he is. _ ” Xzsul speaks openly, ever since he arrived in the Republic, the realization has been gnawing at him. “ _ It is not easy for me to accept that my father has been avoiding my family for this Skywalker-human. I understand he is Sith Lord and Chancellor, but he could have found time. My youngest siblings have never even met him. I’am not doubting his love, but I’am aware that Skywalker is more of his son than I’am. _ ” Hyx doesn’t have the familial experience to soothe Xzsul. Family dynamics are complicated—something Hyx has never had the privilege of experiencing. “ _ Humans are distant—or so I’ve heard. He is likely only being nice to Skywalker to turn him away from the Jedi Order. Your father is a sorcerer, his harshness and coldness are love. If you and he were close, it would raise suspicion, and if you’re close to him and the Jedi find him, you will die too. I’m no family man, I’ve never had any family of my own, but to me, it seems like he is loving to you by being distant. It is not fun, but as long as the Jedi have power, it will have to suffice. _ ” “ _ That makes sense. It is just difficult. I only saw him three times growing up—never for that long. He lends me advice when I need it and doesn’t try to interfere in my path or overpower my will with his own. It just hurts _ .” The two mutually decide to drop the subject. Family matters should be discussed with one's family only. There are more important things to discuss anyways. Now that Xzsul has taken the first steps into the Darkside, he must choose a path. As time goes and Xzsul deepens his connection, more paths will present themselves but one must be walking for a path to present itself. “ _ Xzsul, you are now a servant of the Darkside as I am. I have two options of specification I will teach you, choose wisely but do not overthink. Pick the one that draws you the most because that is the one that Qyâsik wishes for you _ .” “ _ I understand, master. _ ” Xzsul nods, his gaze turning to Hyx. He’s unsure of what the question will be. “ _ Do you want to learn combat or the arts? _ ” “ _ The arts. _ ” Xzsul answers with the first thing that piques his interest, as instructed. Hyx smirks, pleased by this answer. “ _ Good, good. You will still learn combat—it is a useful and lifesaving skill to have— but Qyâsik calls you to sorcery. We will focus on cultivating your potential in sorcery and alchemy _ .” Xzsul has no doubts in his mind about the path he’s chosen. He’s never been one for combat, he can fight—yes—but he’s no machine of war. When he was growing up, he would get into numerous fights with the other children in the Gadow Complex, however, sorcery and alchemy have always been in his family—it runs in his blood. His grandfather is a sorcerer. His father is a cultist. His father’s spirit lives in him, ever since childhood—when he met his father at five—he’s wanted to be like his father. Xzsul stands to his feet, done with his food. “ _ Master, I’am goin’ t’ mediate. I need to recollect my energy and rest for tomorrow _ .”


	7. OUTLANDER

Coruscant never sleeps. Much like Dyriliok, it is a planet always in motion. However, unlike Dyriliok, the planet implements weather control that leaves every day in a temporal limbo that neither Hyx nor Xzsul has ever truly adjusted to. Despite that, when they return from their week-long escapade on Ziost, the planet feels colder. It’s the dead of night when they return and Xzsul finds that he misses the sea of stars that littered the ancient Sith planet’s night sky. Dyriliok is a world of sorcerers and religious zealots, many of whom rely on constellations to perform their rituals. Because of this, the Red Sith scientists have done whatever is needed to not interfere with the illumination of stars. Coruscant’s sky is a constant sheet of empty blackness—one that Xzsul will never get used to standing under. “ _ You should get out, see the city, since we’ve been here all you’ve done is work and mediate. The Republic year is coming to an end. Enjoy your freedom before your twins are born. Spend some time with your mate _ .” Hyx suggests, placing a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. On a physical level, Xzsul has changed. Gone are his blue eyes, replaced by a fiery hue of yellow and ember. In both the Ancient Days and the days where their species warred against the Republic, yellow eyes were a sign of maturity amongst the Red Sith. A sign that Qyâsik’s had touched your spirit and granted you power. A sign that you were now ready to serve your true purpose and do the bidding of one’s Circle—or fight against the enemies of the Red Sith. Hyx has successfully broken the binds that held Xzsul back, now it is up Qyâsik—with the guidance of Hyx—to mold him into what it sees fit. Things will change—new challenges will arise—but only through suffering will Xzsul learn reliance and power. Qyâsik will not fight one’s battles, but it will give you the ability to wield power and make your enemies submit to your will. You just must be willing and capable. “ _ Very well, master. I will then. I just need to get cleaned up _ .” Xzsul nods, gazing intently at him. As soon as Xzsul is in the apartment suite, he showers off and changes into new garments. Jylik isn’t here—likely squeezing the remaining weeks she has left before the birth to do what is needed in the Senate. She typically takes Matik with her so that’s where the boy must be. That doesn’t matter, he’ll just explore around the city by himself. They’ll get alone time sometime soon—hopefully. Covx is gone who knows where and Null is probably with some alien women he met last minute. “Do you have any places of interest, Xzsul?” Hyx questions him when he enters back into the living area. There’s no malicious intent, they’re both foreigners in the land of a historic foe, something could happen so Hyx would like to know where to start if Xzsul finds himself in trouble. “ _ There’s a nightclub some blocks out in the undercity. I heard two Jedi reference it when I was in a diner a while ago. I thought I’d start there. It’s called the Outlander Club—I believe _ .” Xzsul has never stepped foot in a nightclub. Dyriliok has countless, but it was never anything that piqued his interest, someone had to watch his younger siblings and as the elder brother that duty was handed off to him most of the time. But there’s no one to stop him here on Coruscant. “ _ Ah _ .” Hyx nods, glancing up from his DataPad. “Bring my lightsaber.” He tosses the younger Hand his lightsaber. “ _ They have ranged weapons here, don’t get into trouble. Also, your son is with Jylik, she left a note about it on the ridge. _ ” “ _ I understand, master, thank you. I’ll stay safe. _ ” Xzsul assures with a small smile. 

The Outlander Club bouncer gives Xzsul no pushback to getting inside of the establishment. The nightclub is a melting pot of hundreds of species—the majority of which Xzsul can’t identify due to his lack of knowledge of Republic Space. Xzsul brought 1000 credits with him, but he doubts that’ll get him very far in a higher-end establishment like this. Not that it matters, the chances of them selling any alcohol that would affect a Red Sith is slim-to-none. No one in the nightclub pays him any mind, and he returns their enthusiasm. The low-lights strobe and the music blares as sentients dance and drink. It’s nice. The energy here is much more lively than the Jedi Temple—much more vibrant. He’s content just watching the sports games on the HoloScreens. Xzsul watches the Podraces with interest. It vaguely reminds him of the ScrapeRacing that his elder brother, Sheev, does—just far more open and they don’t use bikes. There are plenty of abandoned buildings on Dyriliok—behemoth-sized buildings that dwarf most Coruscant buildings. There’s nothing to other than race inside— or practice rituals inside them. These buildings are dangerous though, many creatures and cults take refuge in them. That’s why there are assigned ScrapeRacing Buildings. They’re highly guarded and monetized. Xzsul’s father always told them had he not became a politician, he would have become a landspeeder racer. Personally, Xzsul has never found the appeal in racing. He guesses he’s like his mother in that way. Granted, his mother listens happily whenever his father goes into the finer details of racing—or any of his other interests. The two are both very talkative people. That’s why he’s a politician and she’s a university professor. After an hour of idly watching, Xzsul is about to leave when he senses a presence. He almost has a flashback to his childhood in the Circle. It’s Niil. Niil Gadow is here—here in the Outlander Club. “ _ Niil! _ ” Xzsul greets with a smirk as he approaches his cousin. “ _ Vyrys!? _ ” Niil practically jumps out of his seat when he sees him. “ _ Sit, sit! _ ” Niil frantically gestures and Xzsul slides into the booth seat opposite of him, still grinning. “ _ What are you doing here? _ ” Niil asks, smirking like a madman. Niil never expected in two thousand years to see his cousin of all people here. “ _ I’am here on assignment. What are you doing here? _ ” Xzsul can only imagine. Niil has been in-and-out of the Republic for the last seven years. He only comes back to Dyriliok if he’s in trouble with some underworld syndicate—or the Republic Lawholders. Niil smirks with a shrug, glancing around the nightclub before staring at some alien women for a minute then he turns his attention back to Xzsul. “ _ You look like one of ‘dem cultists, Vy. Your eyes more yellow than ‘dat light. _ ” Niil casually gestures to a light on the ceiling that’s adjacent to himself. Xzsul snorts bemusedly, shaking his head. A lack of a real answer is characteristic of Niil. “ _ That’s funny, Niil, but I’m being serious. _ ” Xzsul grins, but there’s a flash of seriousness in his eyes for a moment—a spoken warning to not joke this time. Niil sighs, grabbing a tiny blood vial from his pocket and downing it. “ _ I told you, I’am with some humans. They from that planet Mandalore or something. I don’t care. They nice but I know where the real money is _ .” Niil smirks wide as the blood takes its effect. Xzsul scoffs softly, rolling his eyes. Niil pays Xzsul no mind, continuing. “ _ The real money in holocrons, Vyrys. _ ” “ _ What? _ ” Xzsul hisses, hostility evident. “ _ Niil, you better not be— _ “ “ _ You know how much our holocrons are worth here? 60k credits is lowball. Those things are worth 100k sometimes. Vyrys, you sell one to some planetary lord who wants to do some crazy shit, they’ll pay you 500k even if the HoloCron low quality. They don’t know. All holocrons rare to these Republic people. _ ” Niil acts like this information should make him like the idea. Xzsul frowns, glaring daggers into his cousin. “ _ The Jedi. Now, the Jedi pay anything for them. I could get a HoloCron that teaches you simple electricity shit—but if I spin it enough, make it seem like it something evil and mysterious, they’ll pay near millions. Especially if I make it seem like some ruler also wants it. Credits go by quick here, Vy, you’d do the same _ .” “ _ Niil, no I wouldn’t. This is our knowledge. Our people died for this. Jedi exterminate us—and anyone who even deviates from their beliefs—and you use that for profit? Niil, what if a Jedi catches you? We can’t help you _ .” Niil doesn’t know much of Xzsul’s father’s life. The first—and only— time Niil saw Sidious, he was ten. That doesn’t make Niil’s choice of money-making any less concerning. “ _ Look, I got a kid, Vyrys. I can’t just raise her in the Circle Complexes like you gonna do with yours. I ain’t a Circle Dweller, like you. I ain’t a cultist, like you. I don’t go telling you how to live your life _ .” Niil scoffs, rolling his eyes. This is so characteristic of Vyrys. “ _ Niil, these humans are our enemy— _ “ “ _ Did why the hell did your a’bo mate with one then!?—have nine kids with one!? _ ” Niil squeaks, his voice rising two octaves. “ _ Don’t bring my bob’i into this— _ “ “ _ Don’t forget that MY bob’i—YOUR uncle Ruuk— raised you more than both your parents did! Raised you and your younger siblings MORE than both of them! You spent more time with my bob’i than I did because my bob’i—YOUR uncle Ruuk— felt bad for your siblings and wanted to help aunt Yvi. _ ” If this wasn’t his cousin, Xzsul would kill him right here. His eyes darken but he says nothing. “ _ Niil, calm down— _ “ “ _ Fuck you, no. I won’t. _ ” Niil hisses, the blood is in full swing and Niil’s true, unfiltered feelings are being released. Xzsul sighs, rubbing his right cheek ridge as he listens, anger turning into exasperation as he stares into space. It’s better to let Niil go on his blood-fueled tirade than do anything and attract a crowd. He might as well let Niil go off on this rant. “ _ Vyrys, _ _ You’re half human. Vyrys—YOU! You got that human nose—human eyes—human ears! Humans did this! humans did that! Vyrys, the average human not gonna kill you. Now, the average Sith. The average Sith will just sacrifice you because they feel like it. I ain't ever had to worry about being offered up to a god because someone just feels like summoning a deity that day here in the Republic!  _ ” “ _ You’re right. You’re right. _ ” Xzsul frowns, not being able to disagree. The Clone Trooper who landed on Ziost didn’t expect his fate either but is such the nature of the universe. Niil groans, shaking his head and holding his forehead. “ _ Vy, I’am sorry for snapping. But you gotta understand, I don’t wanna die on Dyriliok. I don’t want my lil’ girl dealing with that bullshit. You ain't have to see your best friend kilt in front of you. _ ” “ _ Niil, of course I seen friends killed in front of me. _ ” Xzsul sighs, he would rather not discuss it but if he must, he will. “ _ You think I didn’t have friends who killed each other? Niil, I know you weren’t there, but I saw my best friend get his neck snapped. He and a peer were using Qyâsik and there was a slip of the hand. You’re acting like you’re the only person to ever experience death. _ ” Xzsul thinly conceals his snarl, personally insulted. “ _ Death is normal. Just because you fled to the Republic—and left everyone—doesn’t mean that you won’t meet it here. I pray it doesn’t happen, Niil, but it’s a constant of existence _ ” “ _ Doesn’t mean I want to die at 21, Vyrys. _ ” Xzsul is ruining his high. Niil sighs. His cousin wasn’t always like this, at least not when he was young. Niil’s father always told him that his cousin’s father was distant and violent. Niil doesn’t know the name of Yvi Gadow’s mate, but anyone who chooses to give their children the Sith Red word for  _ Sidious _ as the last name must not be the most well-put-together person. Regardless, Niil does love Xzsul, even if he has this deep down suspicion that Xzsul is becoming the same type of person who made him flee from the Blood Tribune. Granted, if Xzsul does, it wouldn’t be abnormal or frowned upon. The Blood King isn’t exactly an upstanding citizen either—by Republic standards of course. The Blood King is not a moral and righteous man like Chancellor Palpatine is. Niil wishes the Blood Tribune was run by a person like the Chancellor—maybe there would be true law and order, not just adherence to flawed tradition and rugged communalism. “ _ Vy, look, I gotta go. I got shit to do. Good luck with your King’s work. Our kids should meet each other some day when we ain’t someday to do _ .” Niil stands and Xzsul does the same. “ _ Y’eh, y’eh. How is she? Matik is three and I’am expecting twins soon _ .” Xzsul shares with a grin. One that’s immediately met with a smirk by Niil. “ _ She’s great, her a’bo is a Togruta. We didn’t think it would work, but turns out, her spcies and ours have a very similar birth process—they don’t gotta use artificial wombs or Qyâsik though. My daughter’s name is Baryissa—Baryissa Gadow—She’s two. Looks just like her a’bo, but she has my hue of red—my eyes and nose _ .” Niil smiles, Xzsul can sense that his mind is with them. Xzsul doesn’t want to keep him. “ _ I won’t hold you, Niil. Give them my regards. I love you, Niil, just stay safe and don’t get involved with any cultists. We’re not the only Sith in the Republic, Niil. _ ” Xzsul doubts his cousin will listen but it must be said. All cultists—regardless of alignment and creed—are dangerous and should be avoided unless you’re positive you can kill them. Just because Niil sells HoloCrons to fools with no knowledge of Red Sith magic, doesn’t mean he could handle a sorcerer. Anyone who can control Qyâsik’s currents is a threat. _ “Y’eh, y’eh, Vy. _ ” Niil playfully scoffs. “ _ Love you too, tell my parents and siblings I love them when you get back. Stay safe. _ ” 

Xzsul returns to the Senate Apartment Complex, Covx is there but the two ignore each other. There’s an obvious tension between the two men—one that is better left untouched. When Xzsul slinks into his room, Jylik is up and wide-awake, she’s been waiting for him. “ _ Where were you? _ ” She questions from her seat at the room’s desk, an edge in her voice. She glances over her shoulder at him, eyes narrowed and brow furrow. Xzsul’s skin is paler than it should. The change in his eye color isn’t too concerning, sometimes Red Sith’s eyes change to yellow or orange. Jylik isn’t quite sure on the scientific explanation, the mystics and scientists don’t collaborate—many times they actively working against each other. There are dark cycles underneath Xzsul’s eyes, wherever he was he wasn’t sleeping enough. “ _ I was on Ziost _ .” Xzsul sighs, running his hand over his head. He promises himself that he’s not going to cut it off again, he’ll let it grow out so he can twist it—what it was when before his assignment on Cruor’yk 5. “ _ What were you doing on Ziost? _ ” Jylik isn’t sure she wants to know. When she asked Covx about it, he got defensive and withdrawn. When she asked Hyx about their activities, he simply told her to directly ask Xzsul what the two were getting into on Ziost. “ _ A lot. I can tell you the worst parts or the best parts. _ ” Xzsul shrugs, moving to her side and crouching down so he’s just at her shoulder level. He rests his head on her shoulder, idly watching her do the daily report. He has no fear in honesty, they are mates after all. “ _ Tell me the best part first _ .” Jylik huffs, resting a hand on his head. “ _ Well, I created some basic Sithspawns. Nothing major, just some changes to a small reptile we had found. _ ” It’s early in the morning and Xzsul lacks the time and expertise to explain the entire process. Creating a sithspawn was much simpler than Xzsul had originally envisioned it, granted, the creature wasn’t that large and the changes not too drastic. He has an interest in the field so in time, he will learn and master it. Xzsul knows his father also enjoys molding creatures and sentients with alchemy. The two share that inclination. “ _ That’s not bad. Nothing too crazy. _ ” Jylik sighs in relief, at least it anything too esoteric. If that’s the best thing, the worst thing must not be that drastic—at least she hopes so. She prays Xzsul and Hyx didn’t summon some blood-thirsty creature from the depth’s of Qyâsik’s Nether that now roams Ziost, or anything else that will cause the Blood Tribune to have to interfere. She doubts any major repercussions would be handed to either of them by the Tribune if something terrible did happen though, in the name of Sorcery, one can get away with anything. They just are ready to deal with those consequences because, in the exchange for freedom, the Blood Tribune expects one to handle all their issues. If you murder someone, you won’t face legal repercussions but you best be prepared for countless attempts on your own life in return. Jylik has no strong opinions on the way the system is run. It simply is. “ _ What was the worst thing you did? _ ” This is the question she doesn’t want to ask but knows must be. Jylik tells herself that her limit is the mass and bloody murder of a village by some hellish abomination they choose to unleash. As long as the body count is low—maybe one or two people at most—she’s fine. “ _ I constructed an altar to Typhojem and sacrificed a clone trooper in its name. Afterwards, I ate its heart—Hyx did too. Not too big of deal, nothing crazy not like anyone of importance was killed. I didn’t take a parent away from their child—or a brother away from anyone. _ ” Xzsul downplays it, sighing and kissing Jylik’s cheek. There’s relief in Jylik’s spirit. If someone must be sacrificed to Typhojem, one of the Republic’s flesh droids is the most ethical choice. No one was harmed. No one’s life was destroyed by their loved one being chosen at random as a proper sacrifice. In the days of Korriban, there were four castes: Zuguruk — those who worked in engineering and technology. Massassi — the warriors. Kissai — the sorcerers and priests. And Slaves. These were rigid and unchangeable roles that one played. In modern times, the caste system is long-abolished and one can do whatever they wish. Typhojem was a god in the Kissai pantheon, one of the more prominent. Is a god that is still worshiped today by many. There are many temples to him on Dyriliok—entire planets dedicated to his worship even in the further recesses of Blood Tribune space. Very few priests have seen Typhojem and those who have describe it as being either the most beautiful being they have ever witnessed—or a terrifying, bloody mound of red flesh, with far-reaching tendrils and eyes awash with hate. A powerful and monstrous deity that bathes in the blood of all those sacrificed to it. Either way, Typhojem is a god that commandeers respect from all those who are in its presence. “ _ Are you mad at me? _ ” Xzsul frowns, not making eye contact with her. “ _ No, Vy, I’m not mad. _ ” Jylik sighs, shaking her head. “ _ Just don’t do that again. Just don’t make a habit of doing shit like that. And don’t get caught by the Republic. You’ll get killed—or be banned from even stepping foot here. _ ” “I won’t. I won’t.” Xzsul smirks, his mood revived. “ _ It was just a Rite of Passage that our ancestors used to do. It’s not intended to be done more than once. I’m officially Hyx’s student now. We’re connected by the blood of a member of an enemy Circle. _ ” Jylik doesn’t understand his interest in these subjects. It’s not an uncommon or strange interest. She learned how esoteric they were as soon as she moved to Dyriliok as a child. Outside of education, the biggest field of export on the planet is sorcery. “ _ With the twins, we need to talk about them _ .” Jylik changes the subject. “ _ I’am planning on contacting my sister. She will help me with caring for them in the pre-birth period. I do not want them in those artificial wombs. They will be my responsibility until their eyes open. _ ” Xzsul is not budging on this. He can’t stand those artificial wombs, he will not have his twins put in one—it doesn’t matter to him that Jylik’s planet uses them. There are Sith who have no Circles or are not sufficiently skilled enough in the Force to nourish their offspring until they can feed off physical food, thus artificial wombs were crafted to lower infant mortality. The devices are widely accepted but frowned upon amongst Circle Dwellers. “ _ You can handle it then. We’ll have to inform the Citadel that we’re having children. The children being born here won’t affect their chance of getting into your Circle, right? _ ” “ _ It won’t. They’re related to me, even if I were to die, they would still be Circle Dwellers because I’am. If you were a Circle Dweller, and I wasn’t, they would still be considered Circle Dwellers. Just by being my mate, you are one. Well, you’re an honorary one. You’d have to be inducted to be one, but that would mean staying in the Circle _ .” “ _ Good, then everything is settled. It’s good that you got a break this week because soon the kids will be born. Their eyes will be open before this year is over—of course—but then it’s back to work _ .” 


End file.
